Rebuilding Paris
by wispykitty
Summary: In order to secure safe passage for his men back to Greece, Menelaus captures Prince Paris, forcing King Priam to choose between war and the loss of his youngest son. EDITED & UPDATED - this story is back! Hr/P, M/P, Hn/P
1. Chapter 1

**SPECIAL NOTICE  
**On this date, Dec 3rd 2011, I have, after more than five years, finally returned to this story! Sorry it took so long. However in coming back to this story, I realized that I kind of hated the original. So, as a humble token of my apology for taking so long to return, I ask that you please accept a re-write of the first four chapters! The story is still the same, but the characters are better developed and certain scenes have changed. There are even additional scenes scattered amongst the originals! I'm working on chapter five right now, but I've changed quite a bit so far, and would like to advise that anyone who has been waiting for more of this re-read these four chapters. To anyone new - hello, please enjoy, and kindly leave me a line to let me know if you like it! :)

**Summary** In order to secure safe passage for his troops back to Greece, Menelaus captures Prince Paris and holds him hostage. It is up to Hector to return to Sparta in order to get his brother back.  
**Pairing **Hector/Paris; Menelaus/Paris; Paris/Helen**  
Warning **Violence, adult situations, abuse  
**Author Notes **This story can be counted as an AU, as it does not follow the canon storyline. Achilles does not go to war with the Greeks, and Troy does not fall to Agamemnon. Paris was not sent away as a baby and has grown up in Troy (in that note, it moreso follows the movie than anything else). Also as a last note - this story has incestuous brothers (don't worry, they still love the women in their lives). Deal with it.  
**  
**

* * *

As he watched one of his men tend to the vicious looking wound his brother had taken at the hands of Prince Paris, King Agamemnon looked back to the battlefield, watching with frustration and anger as his men were systematically being slaughtered by the Trojans. Returning his attention to Menelaus, the King of Greece frowned as his brother let out a hiss of pain. Looking again to the battle taking place before him, Agamemnon dismissed the man once he had finished tending to Menelaus' injury, then addressed his brother.

"We were perhaps too foolish for our own good. See the way our men drop to the Trojans. Curse that Achilles for refusing to take part, and curse us for requiring his help!" Agamemnon winced as he watched the battlefield. Though their army outnumbered the Trojans, it seemed that on this day, Troy was living up to it's reputation of being unbeatable. Looking to the walls of the fortress where King Priam watched over his warring army, Agamemnon scowled.

"Loathe am I to suggest it, but might we try and find a way to get our men back to the ships before we are completely overrun?" As Agamemnon turned his scowling face to Menelaus, the Spartan King begged an audience with him. "Perhaps if we were to find some way of securing ourselves a way out, something that would cause the King to call off his soldiers..." Waiting to see if the other man would pick up on his train of thought, Menelaus watched as Agamemnon's scowl turned to a smirk.

"Upon landing that blow to you, brother, it would seem that prince Paris would be likely to adopt a false sense of confidence." Nodding his head in agreement, Agamemnon's smirk grew wider.

"It has been said that in matters concerning the younger prince, Priam has a weakness. If we were to somehow capture the boy, no doubt could we force him into calling off his soldiers."

"It is worth a try, at least. I would imagine you have an ulterior motive for selecting young Paris as the captive." At this, Menelaus broke into a grin.

"You see clearly through me, my brother. It seems I underestimated the boy, or rather perhaps Apollo was guiding his hand just earlier. I would love nothing more than to exact yet another revenge upon young Paris."

"I would never dream of denying you that pleasure!" Agamemnon laughed, his thoughts turning to this new plan. "But how do you suppose we are to capture the young one? I wonder now if he even still lives." Straining his neck in order to get a better glimpse, Agamemnon's gaze slid over the field, looking for the youngest prince of Troy.

"In this case, my dear brother, I am but already ahead of you. As you know, I was led back to safety here by our trusted friend Ajax. I informed him that it would be greatly appreciated were he to ensure the prince reached no harm, unless it be by my hand. It seems the man understood well my intention, as he promised me he would do all he could to ensure the young Trojan was captured alive. Let us move closer to the battle. Perhaps we may soon see if this war proves to be distraction enough in order to prevent prince Hector from sheltering his younger kin." As both Greek kings broke into laughter their eyes roamed the edge of the battle, looking for any sign of a captured Trojan prince.

* * *

_~earlier~_

Golden rays of sunlight glared down upon the battlefield as though the Sun God himself was angered at both sides for daring to wage war on his ground. Hector raised his hand to his chin, scratching it absently as he wished to remove his helmet and wipe the sweat from his brow. But in the face of the enemy, that would only count as a sign of weakness, and that was one sign he could not afford. Looking to his right, he focused on the man sitting astride the horse beside his own. Clearing his throat, Hector tried one last time to dissuade his brother from participating in the battle.

"Paris, are you certain you won't go back inside? Given your skill with a bow, you would be far more useful there, and your presence would certainly do much to raise the confidence of the other archers. You need not confront him, my brother." Hector's heart nearly stopped as Paris turned his head, his brother's chocolate-brown eyes meeting his. Paris smiled, but Hector saw through the bravado.

"I have not changed my mind, Hector. I must atone for my actions. I am the cause of this war, and I must confront Menelaus. You could speak no words that would dissuade me from my chosen course." Paris fought to keep his tone confident. Back behind the walls of the castle, after he'd spoken initially to his brother, he'd felt calm and almost confident about his battle. But now that he was out here staring down the enemy, he longed to run for the walls and leave Hector to fix his problems, the way he always did.

"You do understand that it does not matter if you actually face him, don't you? Agamemnon did not bring all the armies of Greece to fight his brother's battle. He came for Troy. They will attack us even if you do win. The battle with you would be but an appetizer to Menelaus."

"Enough, Hector. This decision is mine to make." Paris turned his eyes away from his brother, focusing instead on the line of Greek soldiers before him. "The least you could do is be supportive. If I go into battle knowing that you of all people expect me to die, then how am I to win?"

Hector frowned and moved his horse closer, reaching out to touch his brother on the arm. "Forgive me, brother. I fear I cannot help but worry and expect the worst. You and I have a history, after all. You start fights, and I always end them for you. How can you expect me to accept this decision of yours without a heavy heart?"

Paris sighed and turned his head again, understanding his brother's feelings but still disappointed in them. "This battle isn't only for me, or for Helen. I want to fight for you, brother. If I die today, I would at least wish that I would die and have you be proud of me. Too many times have I sought refuge behind you, Hector. That ends today."

Emotions warred in the heart of Troy's captain, fear and pride and desperation and hope all conflicting inside of him. He understood his brother's reasons all too well, and while he did applaud Paris for them, he also wished they hadn't come on this day. Menelaus was too experienced, and Hector could not hope to interfere. "Alright, Paris. You have made your decision, and my words could not sway you. This is your battle, brother. You have already more than earned my respect and pride in choosing to fight it."

A small smile tugged at Paris' lips at his brother's words, and he felt grateful then for the family the gods had chosen to grant him. "Thank you, brother."

Hector could not help but smile back, his brother's curved lips and sparkling eyes still infectious even on the field of battle. "After you defeat Menelaus, we will beat down the Greeks, and then you and I will feast on the bodies of dead Spartans tonight, little brother." Hector tightened his grip on Paris' arm, fingers clutching desperately to the brother he loved deeply, hoping this wouldn't be the last time.

"I'll hold you to that, Hector," Paris replied, grateful again for his brother's support. He then turned his head to look out before him, feeling numb as Hector's arm slipped away from his own, and then he dismounted his horse and walked out to meet a smirking Menelaus, feeling more alone than he ever had in life. He unsheathed his sword and held his shield in front of him, standing before the Spartan.

"What business have you, prince, in challenging a warrior as great as myself to a duel? Hand over Helen now, and spare yourself the pain. Spare your loved ones the pain of watching you fall in battle! You must know you cannot win." Standing his ground, listening as the Spartan's words caused his soldiers to stamp their feet and holler their agreements, Paris waited for them to quiet before speaking.

"You underestimate me, Menelaus. If I am able to steal your wife from right under you, why then should I not be able to steal your life as well?" Though he fought to not tremble with fear, Paris could not help but suppress a grin from adorning his face. While certain he could best the king in a battle of wit and words, he had to be ready for Menelaus' sword.

"Your arrogance does not sit well upon you, young prince. You shall live to regret your actions and words, if it be for only a short while longer! Prepare to meet your death, Paris of Troy." Finally unsheathing his own sword, Menelaus advanced upon the prince, his eyes ablaze with fury, attempting to intimidate Paris with his appearance alone. But the Trojan prince was prepared for that and held his ground. Growing frustrated at Paris' refusal to back down, Menelaus lunged suddenly at the younger man, hoping a display of brute force would change his mind. Swinging his sword wildly, but not too close to the Trojan lad, far back enough to avoid a swing should Paris retaliate, Menelaus began the fight. But the youth simply stepped back a pace, out of range, still appearing calm and confident. Watching the king, Paris thought back to the words of advice he had heard this morning upon making a final declaration that he would fight Menelaus. '_Let him chase you, he will tire easily, and when he tires, then you must strike him down_.' Heeding that advice, Paris moved to circle the king, looking for a good angle at which to strike out, but what would also give him an opportunity to move and force the Spartan to come after him.

Seeing such an opportunity, Paris lunged in, swinging his sword at Menelaus' side. The king blocked it easily and Paris retreated, feeling a small surge of confidence as Menelaus ran to catch him. If only he could keep this up long enough to notice the large man tire, he might possibly have a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless. Ducking as Menelaus charged him, Paris retreated again, whirling to watch as Menelaus came after him. This time he met the king's sword with his shield, his body shaking from the strength of the hit. Swinging his own sword, Paris was able to hit the king's leg, opening a small wound there. As he turned to flee once again, taking advantage of Menelaus' very temporary distraction, he turned back in time to see the king's eyes light up with anger. Glancing at the thin line of blood that ran down the Spartan's leg, Paris readied himself. Hoping Menelaus' anger would only distract him further, instead of give him yet more energy, Paris ducked as the heavy sword of the Spartan came at him. Using his speed, he slammed himself shield first into Menelaus' side, causing the king to stumble, and giving himself time to retreat again.

To his surprise, their fight continued on in the same manner for some time. Perhaps it was only mere seconds, but it seemed to last an eternity to Paris. He hadn't escaped completely unscathed yet. One time the sword tip of Menelaus had grazed his arm, and while it had not been a severe cut, it was bleeding. Ignoring the sting of the cut, Paris watched as Menelaus came at him again. Quickly moving out of the way, Paris swung his weapon at the king's sword arm, grazing it. But the injury affected the huge beast of a man less than it would have affected Paris, and for this he counted his luck that Menelaus had only managed a small scrape to his arm. As he ducked once more to avoid another swing, Paris noticed this time that Menelaus was not quite so quick to pick his sword back up to it's usual stance again. His mind giddy with glee, Paris realized the Spartan king was tiring. Goading the man into another swing and miss, then running to retreat once more, Paris readied himself for this time.

Menelaus came at him, his sword raised and ready to swing. Remembering the warrior's pattern so far, Paris ducked this time in the direction the blade swung, barely escaping it's arc. However he now had the chance he had been seeking. Seeing the open path, Paris swung his sword up from below, plunging it into the king's shoulder. Such was the hit that it forced Menelaus to drop his sword, and Paris sensed victory as he heard the Spartan king roar with pain. Dropping his shield as well and clutching his shoulder, Menelaus retreated quickly toward his men, his face contorted. Though Paris thought it only right that he should strike Menelaus again, he noted sourly that the king was too close to his own men and looking at the expressions upon their faces, he didn't doubt the Greeks would hesitate in cutting him down if he came too close. Instead the Trojan prince settled for watching Menelaus slide in amongst his men, crying out for them to attack. Having no time to waste, Paris quickly returned to his horse, remounting the glorious steed amidst cheers from his fellow warriors. Chancing a glance next to him, his eyes briefly met Hector's and Paris' heart swelled as he saw the look of pride on his brother's face. Returning his gaze to the men before him, Paris had no chance to revel in his win over Menelaus as the Greek army closed in. Regardless, the sense of confidence he now felt after having bested the Spartan king quelled any fear he felt regarding his own skills. Instead of concentrating on his weaknesses, Paris now understood to concentrate on his strengths and on the weaknesses of the enemy.

* * *

As Agamemnon's men advanced on him, Hector had no time to think about Paris and his victory, and the intense relief he felt that his brother still lived. He found himself staring down an army of angry Greeks intent on his death. Cleaving his way through the crowd, Hector's sword brought down many men, as all who appeared in his path fell. Taking a moment to glance around, Hector sought out his brother, sighing with relief as he saw Paris still fighting. His younger brother wasn't faring too poorly, either, and Hector felt a sense of pride return as he watched Paris. It was short lived, though, as he barely saw the sword swinging for his side, and moved his own sword to block it. He reminded himself that he had no time to worry about Paris, that if he allowed himself the opportunity to check on his brother again, it would only result in getting a sword in his own back. Concentrating once more on the men before him, Hector slew all who appeared, his sword arm never tiring.

Dodging a wildly-swung sword, the elder Prince of Troy felled the man who swung it quickly, his blade slicing through the man's neck, a spurt of blood spraying across Hector's mount. As he raised his sword to deflect another blow, Hector mused momentarily on the dirtiness of war. So much blood was spilled upon the field already, more yet would be spilled today. It was a wonder the grass on this field did not grow red for all the battles the ground had witnessed. Chiding himself for distracting his thoughts from the battle at hand, Hector deflected yet another swing, stabbing another man through the shoulder as his shield deflected a blow dealt from the other side. His horse reared - not high enough to unseat it's rider, but high enough to kick another offending Greek soldier from his feet.

Readying his sword as another soldier charged at him, Hector's eyes flickered to his right where his brother fought. He noticed that a man advanced towards Paris - a man nearly twice the size of his brother. As Hector opened his mouth to shout a warning to him, a sword glanced off of his shield, rendering him unable to protect his brother. Paris was upon his horse, sword and shield in hand and fighting valiantly, using his learned skills well; though his arm still bled, it seemed of no distraction at all to the young prince. A fair share of bodies littered the area surrounding his horse, and still they came at him. Paris continued to block slashes from the soldiers around him, too distracted to notice as the giant of a man known as Ajax came up behind him. Hefting his maul into the air, Ajax brought it crashing down into the haunch of Paris' horse, watching as the beast crumpled to the ground. Paris crouched behind his shield as he sank to ground level atop his horse, stunned into momentary shock that the animal had been taken out. The young prince had not expected that his horse would become a target, his inexperience in battle explaining his sudden lapse into grief over the beast. As a rapid succession of swords beat down upon his shield, he was jolted back to the realities of warfare, narrowly avoiding having his foot cut off. Paris swung his sword in a wild arc at the men in front of him, pulling his feet free from his saddle; he wondered how he might possibly get himself out of this situation, and was shocked when he heard a command issued to the Greek Soldiers.

The command was simple: do not harm the prince. Looking behind him, Paris had no time to prepare himself as he felt strong hands grab him, yanking him to his feet. He was now face to face with the man who had felled his steed - the mighty warrior Ajax. Paris attempted to wrench his arm free of Ajax's grasp, but this action only succeeded in the Greek warrior grabbing his other arm, knocking his sword and shield to the ground. Thrashing wildly as he fought to escape the steel grip of Ajax's hands, Paris feared that death would soon claim him, but the prince was surprised as Ajax appeared to have other plans. Bringing to mind the words he had heard issued only moments ago, he began his struggle to get away with even more furor. It was to no avail, as Ajax simply hefted the much smaller man over his shoulder, and began making his way back through the mass of Greek soldiers, carrying the younger prince of Troy back to safety.

"Hector!" Paris no longer felt his earlier strength as he called for his brother - he was being carried away by the enemy, and all he could hope for was the protection of his kin. "Hector!" Twisting about in the man's grasp, Paris searched the field behind him for any sign of his brother, finally seeing the elder prince. Hector was still, frozen in shock. When Paris' eyes met his, however, his brother sprang into action.

"Paris! PARIS!" Fighting his way through the wave of soldiers, Hector tried to get to his brother. But there were too many men in his way, and they all seemed intent on holding him back. New cries were heard as Paris was swept back into the enemy's lines.

"King Priam, Prince Hector, tell your soldiers to hold off, or else I shall slit the throat of the young prince myself!" Searching for the new voice, Hector saw Agamemnon grinning wickedly as he held a knife to the throat of a struggling Paris; Hector called to his men immediately, urging them to stop fighting. He heard shouting from above, but could not make out what was being said, nor even who was saying it. All he could think about was Paris and the fear in his younger brother's eyes. Once the fighting had somewhat ceased and all attention had been turned to Agamemnon and Paris, the Greek King spoke again. "I demand an end to this battle! Call your men back inside the walls of your fortress, and allow us to make back for our ships. If you do not comply, I shall kill your prince now. His corpse shall be brought back to Sparta and desecrated at the hands of my brother, so that your son may not live on in peace even in the afterlife!" The king's words rang out sharply, and they were heard by every man. Though he knew they should be able to defeat the Greek armies attacking his city, Hector could not bear the thought of watching his brother die before his own eyes.

"What of Paris should we comply with you, Agamemnon?"

"He will accompany us to the ships, and only after every ship has left the shore shall he be thrown overboard, where he can swim back to the safety of the shores, should he have the strength left in him. I have no need for a prince of Troy in my home. What say you, Priam? Is the life of your son worth the battle? Could you forsake Paris to an afterlife spent wandering, haunted? Will you do that to your youngest, Priam?" Turning his gaze upon the wall where his father stood, Hector prayed that the King would not doom his brother.

After a moment spent debating the proper course of action, it seemed that the King of Troy also shared his eldest son's desire to protect his youngest. Priam yelled for the gates to be opened and for his men to retreat inside, and Hector saw a small bit of fear ease from Paris' face. It was obvious the young prince was still frightened, and rightfully so. Hector only hoped that Agamemnon would keep his word. As the battlefield cleared of Trojan soldiers, soon only Hector remained.

"Allow me to ride to the shore so that I might be there to receive my brother once you are free on the water, Agamemnon. You have my word, I will cause no problems. I would see no harm done to Paris." The Spartan King stepped away from the younger prince of Troy and approached Hector.

"Certainly, prince Hector. I wish only to secure safe passage for my men. It is obvious that on this day, we underestimated the strength of the Trojan army." Hector nodded, relieved that he would have no trouble in following the men down to their boats. He had no reason at the moment to fear that Agamemnon would take action against him; his worry lay only for Paris. Hector followed the retreating Greek soldiers from a safe distance and watched from atop a hill as the soldiers prepared their ships to set sail. Hector's eyes were trained on his brother. Three of Agamemnon's guards surrounded the prince, shoving him forward. Tripping over his own feet, Paris stumbled, only to be caught by the largest of the men. The man grabbed him by his hair, pulling him up and around, his fist connecting with Paris' jaw. Quelling the rage that threatened to overtake his senses, Hector prayed that his brother would have the strength to get through this without too much damage done to his ego. Not only was Paris responsible for starting the war, he was now also responsible for ending the war prematurely, when the Trojans had had the upper hand.

Hector watched as many of the ships pushed off, the Greeks wasting no time in retreating to their homeland. Every ship now had departed from the shore and only one remained. That ship belonged to Menelaus and Hector advanced towards it, watching as his brother was roughly pushed to stand beside the Spartan King, looking down to the beach where he stood. His heart constricted as he watched the ship push off into the water, despite Agamemnon's promise that Paris would be released only when every ship was off the beach. But now that no more ships lay on the sand, Hector felt a sudden pang of fear hit him, as he looked up at the smirking grin of Menelaus. He would have felt more confident in believing the Greeks had it been anyone else who was now beside Paris.

"Hector of Troy, my brother gave you his word that when my ship was upon the water, I would release your brother." Hector nodded, his fear diminishing slightly. "I have decided otherwise." Hector erupted. The bit of hope gleaned from Menelaus' words suddenly crushed, the elder brother prepared to charge into the water himself and climb into the boat, take on all of Menelaus' men and save his brother. "Upon closer study of your brother, I have found that his beauty matches that of my stolen wife. So, I have decided that as punishment for stealing Helen from me, I shall punish Troy by stealing her youngest prince. Say goodbye to your beloved brother, Hector, for if you follow me, I swear on the glory of Sparta that I shall kill him. Give my regards to your fool of a father, Prince Hector!" Hector watched in fury as Menelaus grabbed Paris, forcing the young man to stand in front of him and stare back into the eyes of his brother. Hector stiffened as Paris was made to scream his name, a command that the younger man was more than ready to fulfil. His heart torn, Hector still wanted to swim to the ship and save his brother, but he knew not to doubt Menelaus' threat. He knew the best course of action would be to return to the palace and inform his father of the treachery of Menelaus. Feeling as though he were rooted to the beach, the cries of his brother keeping him from turning and riding back to the palace, Hector watched the ship until he could no longer make out his brother's face. Then he turned and urged his steed to fly back to the palace as quickly as possible. The horse seemed to understand his rider's sense of urgency.

The gates opened once Hector approached, and if he listened, he would have been able to hear the shouts of confusion as he rode back inside, alone. He came to the middle of the courtyard where his father, among others, stood waiting for him. Hector slipped from his horse, barely able to focus for the severity of the situation.

"How foolish we were to trust in the lies of the Greek King, father! What fools does Troy breed?" Flinching as his father grabbed his arms, unwilling to meet the King's eyes, Hector bit down upon his lip. He had never heard Paris scream for such fear before. The look of terror upon his brother's face was an image that time would never burn from his mind. "Menelaus did not give him up, father. He has decided to keep Paris, as revenge for Helen." His voice quieted. Hector closed his eyes, unable to look upon his father anymore. He felt a failure. He should have known, should have suspected that Menelaus would interfere.

"Hector, we must go after them, then. We must depart at once, send out a ship full of our best soldiers! We cannot let him keep Paris. I cannot lose my youngest son." Hector met his father's gaze as he opened his eyes and steeled his emotions as a tear slipped from Priam's eye. Bringing a hand up to wipe at his own eyes, Hector fought to get a hold of himself. Now was hardly the time for breaking down, no matter how responsible he felt for his brother.

"No, we cannot. Not yet, at any rate. Menelaus said that if he saw any ship of ours following them back to Greece, he would kill Paris. No, father, I am afraid we must wait at least a day before following. When we do go after them, we must take precautions to ensure that he does not realize our intentions. He will be expecting us, father, and you know as well as I that Menelaus will not hesitate to kill Paris simply to wound our hearts. We must think the situation through with clear minds. As much as I hate to think of Paris alone with them, we have no choice." Hector struggled to control his emotions, saying no more in fear that his voice would break. Paris was now held captive in the Spartan King's ship. His anger giving way to fear as he contemplated Menelaus' parting words, Hector refused to believe that Menelaus would actually dare to touch his brother. But what now was happening to Paris? Countless scenarios played before his mind, each one more horrible than the previous. He had to get Paris back. He could not afford to lose his brother to the greedy king of Sparta.

* * *

"You would do well to obey any command I give you, young prince. Have you not realized that you are completely at my mercy? Given your performance this morning, you are in no position to speak out against me; Apollo may have been on your side earlier, but now I would not hesitate to say that he has deserted you. Trust in Priam to raise a spoiled brat of a child." Breaking his fall with his arms, Paris looked up at Menelaus from his position on the floor of the ship. The Spartan king glared daggers down at him, but the young man was defiant still; prisoner or not, he would bow before no king other than his own father.

"Do with me as you wish, Menelaus, for my brother will see that you are properly re-paid for whatever harm I may come to!" A boot to the face silenced the Trojan prince, who sprawled backwards.

"I suppose I should take liberties not to damage you too harshly in the facial region, eh Prince? I do not want to spoil your pretty good looks. But the more you rebel against me, the harder I will be forced to hit you back. Do you want that, little prince?" Grabbing a fistful of Paris' hair, Menelaus forced the young man's head back.

Unwillingly looking up into the hateful gaze of the king, Paris was surprised when Menelaus' eyes conveyed some amusement. "What a pretty thing you are, boy. I can see why Helen had the nerve to leave. She may be the most beautiful woman we have known, but what good are women? You, however, little prince, I would say that you are the most beautiful man to ever grace our land. Unlike Helen, you have more use than only that of a pretty face." Menelaus watched as brown eyes widened before him, not exactly certain where the Spartan king was going with his comment.

Grabbing Paris' arm, Menelaus jerked him up off the floor, pulling him very close. Pushing his face into Paris', Menelaus felt the young prince squirm and he enjoyed every moment of it. "What good are women, young Paris? For a man as experienced as you are among lovely ladies, I imagine you must have some idea of their worth." Refusing to speak, Paris averted his eyes from the king's gaze, instead resting on Menelaus' bandaged shoulder. "Not feeling quite so confident in yourself now, are you, little prince? Just as well." With a hard push, Menelaus sent Paris crashing backwards into the bunk by the wall of the ship. Laughing at the Trojan prince, Menelaus made for the stairs.

"I must see to my men. I suggest you make yourself comfortable, Prince of Troy, for once we reach my homeland, a prince no longer shall you be." With that parting comment, Menelaus disappeared from Paris' view, leaving the young man alone below the deck. Out of view of all Greeks, Paris drew his knees up to his chest, his feet resting on the bed. Hugging himself into a ball, the youngest prince of Troy lowered his head to his knees, already feeling his eyes grow damp with tears. If only he hadn't been so stubborn and had listened to Hector, he wouldn't be in this position now.

Hector. Paris trembled as he thought of his brother. Hector was doubtlessly breaking the news now to their father, likely blaming himself for allowing his little brother to be captured. Cursing his own name, Paris succumbed to guilt. Hector would come after him and risk his life to bring him back. If only he had listened to his brother, on all matters as of late, none of this would be happening. In the span of less than three days, Paris had managed to start a war with the Greeks, end that war prematurely when Troy was winning, and get himself captured by the enemy. Not bad for the king's younger son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Notes** I have taken the liberty of creating a few characters - two of which are horses. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

* * *

The sun was vibrant as it began its descent toward the mountains, and a light breeze blew through the city, flags and banners still proudly alive in the post-battle evening hours. But Hector had little use for them now. He leaned down against the stone balustrade of his balcony, his eyes on his men below in the square. There they sat amongst each other, friends and brothers in arms, cleaning weapons and armour, testing the limits of any injuries received, and mourning the loss of the few fallen Trojans.

But did any of them mourn for his brother? While Paris had always excelled at archery, he had never been a fan of mastering the sword, nor had he ever made much time for Troy's soldiers. His little brother had preferred to acquaint himself with the intellects and artists, poets and painters and politicians – and the women. Women had always been his brother's greatest weakness, and it was a weakness that Hector had often hidden from others whenever possible. But he'd not been able to hide Helen, and everyone knew the reason for the battle of this morning.

Who would possibly desire to accompany him on a suicide mission to retrieve his brother from the Spartans? Who would care enough about Paris? Hector had no doubt his soldiers would follow him wherever he went, but he feared the loss of their respect if he so willingly led them to near-certain death, just to rescue a brother who'd brought far more pain to Troy than glory.

How could he justify it to them? How could he justify it to himself? He closed his eyes and leaned his head down and thought back to the early hours of this morning, to the last true conversation he'd had with Paris.

_"I know what you're going to ask of me, brother, and the answer is still no. It is my duty to our people to face Menelaus and your words shall not sway me." Paris stood before Hector, determined not to allow his older brother to beat down his reserve. As much as he did not want to face the Spartan king, as much as he feared what the more experienced warrior would do to him, he knew he had no other choice. It was his fault that Troy was on the brink of war. He could not run away again this time. He must make a stand and atone for his crimes._

_"But Menelaus is a true warrior, Paris! He has faced countless foes, fought many men. None have ever come close to beating him." Hector stood with crossed arms, determined not to allow Paris to face the enraged Spartan king. He'd already sacrificed enough for Paris - he did not want to lose his brother._

_"And I am not a true warrior, then?" Paris asked sulkily, knowing the answer and hating himself for it. He was no warrior, nor had he ever desired to be. Not until this moment._

_"No, Paris, you're not. It's beyond foolish of me to allow you to face him, can't you see that? You are my little brother, and it's always been my duty to protect you. Please don't ask me to stop that now."_

_Paris turned away from his brother, his own arms crossing over his chest. Curse Hector! Of course he would play on brotherly guilt, on familial responsibility. Though it did indeed guilt him, it also bolstered Paris' resolve to fight. "I am no longer a child, brother," he said, still facing away, his eyes on the armour awaiting him, "And I can no longer allow you to fight my battles for me." He turned back to Hector, frowning when he saw the pained expression on his brother's face. "You think I have no chance of winning."_

_Hector took a step toward his brother, one hand reaching out to settle in the younger man's brown curls. "You have never seen Menelaus in battle before, brother. He is a deadly foe."_

_Paris took one step back, forcing Hector's hand from his head. "You think he will kill me."_

_Hector advanced again, both hands reaching out to cup his brother's cheeks, to draw his head near until he could press his lips to Paris' forehead. "I can't bear the thought of losing you, brother."_

"_Then believe in me, Hector. Tell me I will defeat him, tell me that I will be the one to strike the killing blow." Paris forced his head back up to stare his brother in the eyes. "Tell me."_

_Hector could say nothing, though he strongly desired to whisper any words that would help Paris. He wished he could lie to his brother, to give him confidence and solid advice. But he couldn't, for he did not believe that Paris stood a chance against the Spartan. He could not lie now, not even for his brother's sake._

"_Then I suppose I go to my death," Paris said before pulling away from Hector and walking over to his waiting armour. "You will make sure Helen remains safe, won't you? I cannot bear the thought of her returning to Menelaus. The thought itself is nearly enough to send me to my death."_

"_She will always be safe in Troy," Hector said, as he watched Paris pick up the breast plate._

"_Good." Paris slid the armour over his head and into place, but though he tried as hard as he could to latch the buckles, his fingers fumbled. How could he expect to defeat an experienced Spartan warrior when he couldn't even dress himself for battle?_

_Hector's fingers were there in an instant, to do everything that Paris was unable to do for himself. Soon he stood before his brother dressed in the finest armour available, his eyes on Hector, and thoughts of fleeing his battle were running rampant through his head._

"_This is the first time you're ever wearing your armour to battle, Paris," Hector said, his gaze lingering over his little brother's armour clad figure. "It looks good on you." They stared at one another for a moment in silence before Hector surged forward and pulled Paris into an embrace. "Remember what I told you, Paris. You must use your youth and speed against him, he does not expect much of a fight, and he will tire easily. You must be patient."_

_Paris nodded, his spirits raising just a little at Hector's words. If Hector believed there was a chance, Paris would believe as well._

"_You must come back to me, little brother." Hector's whispered words were followed by a kiss to the temple before the older prince stepped back again._

"_I will, brother." And Paris believed he would, one way or another. He would find a way, find a weakness, and he would exploit it. He would do it for Hector._

Hector forced his eyes open again, to stare down at the men below him, to remember his place and his position. He could not afford to give in to guilt, no matter how hard it fought to overwhelm him. Paris was gone, taken captive by the enemy, and there was nothing he could do about it. None of this would have happened if only he had been more adamant that Paris stay out of the battle. Of course his brother had felt that it was his duty to face Menelaus, but it was only the foolishness of youth that had strengthened his resolve. Hector should have known from his experience that something would go wrong the moment Paris managed to best Menelaus; he should have sensed it and ordered his brother inside.

But it had been his decision to allow Paris to stay and fight. He had allowed Paris to be captured by the Greeks and taken back to their homeland. Whatever now was happening to his brother, the responsibility for it lay directly on his shoulders. What kind of a brother was he? He'd failed in his duties to Paris.

Suddenly then he heard the shuffle of footsteps and he looked back into his room, expecting his wife. But instead his eyes fell on Helen. Leaving the balcony he re-entered his room, taking care to smooth the lines of worry from his face. He would find Paris, and he would bring his brother back. For himself and for Helen.

"Hector, I've been looking for you," Helen stood before him and the expression on her face was one that battled between conflicting emotions of guilt and sadness and strength.

"What can I do for you, Helen?" He was surprised to see her here, and curiosity gnawed at him. What did she want?

"I've come to apologize to you, Hector." Helen stood as strong and as tall as she could, determined not to buckle in front of Troy's captain. She did not need to burden him with her own fear. "I see now that I never should have left with your brother, it was foolish of us to believe it would go unanswered. Now Paris pays the price for my transgressions, and Troy has lost soldiers instead of gaining an ally."

Hector was both shocked by her words, and moved. "Helen, I don't require your apology. There is no need to lay blame or debate wrong doings. You are a daughter of Troy, now, Helen, and I swore to my brother that we would protect you. So if you've come here to offer yourself back to Menelaus, save your breath. Paris would never allow it."

Helen bit her lip, unsure of how to answer. She had come to do just what Hector had said, offer to return to Menelaus in exchange for Paris' safety. Of course she'd known it would never be accepted, but she'd had to offer simply because it was the right thing to do. "I understand. Menelaus would probably only keep us both, or kill us, depending on his mood." They were both silent once more, their eyes anywhere but on each other. Just as awkwardness stole into the air around them, Helen broke the silence once more. "Are you going to bring him back, Hector?"

"Of course I am, Helen. I can't leave my brother to that fate, not when he risked so much to rescue you from it." He took a few steps toward her and reached out then to draw her into his arms. "I love my brother, Helen. I won't rest until he is back here with his family, where he belongs."

Helen nodded, feeling grateful. "He is lucky to have such a loving family."

Hector stepped back then, holding her at arms' length. "Yes he is, and so now are you, sister."

Helen felt herself blush, overcome by Hector's words. "We are not married, Hector. I am not your sister yet."

Hector smiled and laid a hand to her cheek, his finger brushing a tear away. "You are in my heart, Helen, and I'm sure when I bring Paris back, arrangements will follow."

Helen nodded, still overcome by Hector's show of emotion. It was not what she had been expecting of him. "I thank you for your kindness, Hector. I am unused to such familiarity, especially when we are little more than strangers. Your words do offer me a welcome I did not expect."

"I have seen my brother bed many women, Helen," Hector said, deciding on a course of frank honesty. "I have often thought his obsession was a curse from the gods, and that he would never find a woman in whom he could find actual love. But you are different, Helen. My brother loves you, and it is for that reason that I welcome you so openly. Though your defection from Menelaus has cost Troy, I believe you will also be a blessing to her, once I have returned with my brother. Both I and my father agree on this, and for that reason we readily accept you into our family."

Helen felt herself blushing again, uncertain how she would be expected to take Hector's comments. She had initially viewed Paris as a blessing to her from the gods, an escape from a life she hated and a husband she despised. Never had she expected to be viewed as a blessing herself.

* * *

Paris sat on the edge of the bunk, alone for the time being. He could hear nothing above the crash of waves against the side of the boat, and he preferred it that way. It drowned out the sound of the celebrating Spartans, at least. He'd been left alone for the majority of the day, not so much as a footstep on the stairs joining him. Still he shivered at the anticipation of what was to come. Surely Menelaus would seek retribution, whether for Helen or for their battle Paris was uncertain which would be the worst.

The bobbing of the ship lulled him closer to sleep, the rhythmic rocking luring his eyes to close. His thoughts drifted from the ship and steered closer to home. How were his loved ones taking this turn of events? Were they making plans for his rescue? Surely Hector would not leave him to Menelaus, would he? And his father? Would Priam abandon him? He'd heard it said numerous times that the old man had a soft spot where he was concerned, that he'd been spoiled by a doting father. Priam was no softhearted king, though. Paris knew this first-hand. He'd already disappointed his father by ruining Troy's chance for peace with Sparta when he'd whisked Helen away, and though his father had been quick to welcome her to their home, Paris knew that the king had been severely disappointed in his lack of judgement and responsibility to his homeland.

Would his father risk the further safety of Troy to get him back? Or would he be forced to make that one tough decision that every parent dreaded making? Would he sacrifice a child for his country? After all, it wasn't as though he was Troy's favourite prince. Were it Hector here instead of him, he had no doubt that his father himself would be leading the fleet to war. Sacrifices would be made for Hector.

But would they be made for him? Or would he instead be the sacrifice?

Paris laid down on the bunk as he thought further about sacrifices. Already he had cost Troy a mighty life – that of his horse, Abrax. The horse had been a gift from his brother, a present for his coming of age. Abrax had been sired from Hector's own mount, and the princes of Troy were said to ride the most glorious mounts in all of the Mediterranean, whispers of blessings from the gods themselves, inheritors of abnormally long life and legs that never seemed to tire. Abrax had proven to be one of the younger prince's only trusted friends in adolescence, often providing escape to a bored young man, disinterested in attending his father's courts. In fact, whenever Paris had chosen to disappear, the only way to find him had been on the back of Aeton, Hector's mount and sire of Abrax. Just as Priam had always had a knack for finding his youngest son no matter where in the palace he'd chosen to hide as a child, so Aeton was always able to find his favoured child as well.

"_Come, Abrax, and watch your footing! We can rest when we get around the next bend in the wall," Paris spoke gently as he carefully chose his footing, leading his young mount behind him. He paused momentarily, looking over his shoulder. He'd put a fair amount of distance in between himself and the city of Troy by now, though traversing the mountain was taking a bit longer than he would have liked. But it was necessary if he wished to get away._

"_Watch this passage, Abrax, for it's quite narrow! I promise the going will be easier when we get through," he spoke again, leading the horse through an opening in the rock. He was certain that by the time anyone realized he was gone, he would be far enough away to never be found. Not unless he wanted to be found, of course. And why should he want to be found? There was nothing for him in Troy, nothing except a father who vastly preferred his brother, and a brother who vastly preferred his training to spending time with him. He had no real friends, except his cousin Briseis, but even she was being discouraged from spending time with him anymore. Her tutors thought him a bad influence!_

_So instead he'd decided to leave the city and fend for himself in the country. He'd taken his horse, along with his favourite bow and a quiver full of arrows. He was quite a good shot – not that it seemed to matter much to anyone. Often Hector criticized him that shooting with a bow was only honourable when it came to hunting. If he wanted to be an honourable soldier, he would have to learn to wield a sword._

_But that was just it! He did not want to be an honourable soldier – for he did not want to be a soldier at all! But there was no explaining that to Hector or Priam. They had expectations for him, expectations and plans and not once had they ever asked for his opinion! He refused to live a life dictated by anyone else, no matter how much he loved his family. They would simply have to learn to live without him, unless they learned to respect his wishes._

_Paris stopped then on his trail, wiping his brow and leaning against the sheer face of a cliff. He'd come a long way and was finding himself rather thirsty now. He would need to find a stream before long, both for himself and for Abrax. It was then that he heard a noise from above – the clopping of hooves on rock. He held his breath, hoping it was just a farmer. There was no way it could be anyone from Troy! He'd watched his back, and no one had come behind him. Of that he was certain._

_But then a figure came around the bend and Paris felt like lashing out at something – anything – but there was nothing within reach except rock. Instead he watched as his brother began the descent down the trail, turning his back after a while and sulking against Abrax's flank. How had Hector found him?_

"_Paris," Hector's voice rang out, mostly angry but with a small amount of relief, "What in Apollo's name are you doing out here?"_

_Paris leaned into Abrax, wanting to bury himself into the horse' fur instead of face his brother. "Am I not allowed to be here?" He knew it was a weak response, but he could visualize none better at the moment, for he was too disappointed at being found so easily. _

"_You're missing your classes again! Yes, Paris, Itaxis has told me that you have been skipping classes lately. You should consider yourself lucky that father hasn't heard of this yet! Now explain yourself to me, and it had better be good." Hector stood with arms crossed, staring at the back of his younger sibling._

_Paris shrugged, unwilling to admit his reasons. "I find his classes boring," he said, his fingers combing through the mane of Abrax._

"_Boring? Since when do you tire of learning, little brother? I thought you considered yourself an intellectual." Hector badly wanted to reach out and turn Paris around to face him, but he knew that was, in essence, part of the problem. All of Paris' life, Hector had protected him, and fought his brother's battles. Had it truly been so detrimental?_

_Paris stiffened at Hector's comment, his face pushing deeper into the horse's side. That was what Hector thought of him as, then – an intellectual. Paris well knew that his brother had little patience or love for politics and education. He preferred the physical demands of training with Troy's army. "What does it matter to you?" He muttered, his hands running over the horse's hair._

_Hector sighed, shaking his head. "I don't have time for this, Paris. We're going back to Troy, right now." Hector left no room for dispute in his tone of voice, hoping to persuade his brother with words alone. But Paris was quite stubborn._

"_I'm not going. I've decided already that I will leave Troy and live out my days roaming the country, living off the land, and you can't change my mind." Paris was set in his decision._

_To his surprise, Hector let out a low chuckle. "One way or another, Paris, we are going back to Troy. You are not so big that I can't throw you over my shoulder," Hector moved to stand behind his brother, his hands snaking out to settle on Paris' arms._

_Paris shook his head. "Please respect my decision, Hector. There is nothing for me in Troy." He wished he could move away from Hector's hands, but he was caught in between his brother and his horse._

"_What do you mean? You are a prince of Troy, Paris! The whole city is for you," Hector remarked, baffled by his brother's comment._

_Paris shook his head in disagreement. "No, Hector. I may be a prince of Troy, but the city is not for me. It is for you. I matter little to Troy in your shadow. No one will miss me, Hector. I serve no purpose."_

_Silence lingered between them for a few moments as Hector thought of how to respond. Finally he settled on a simple route. "You are my brother, Paris. I will miss you."_

"_You won't. You have your fellows soldiers, and you have father, and you have," Paris faltered then, unable to say her name. "Is it true you are to be married soon?"_

_Hector let out the breath he'd been holding, as though he were relieved by Paris' comment. "Yes, Paris. I will marry Andromache." He was silent again, waiting. When no reply came he pushed further. "Does that bother you, brother?"_

_Paris bit his lip, unsure of how to answer. It wasn't that he disliked Andromache – in fact he hadn't even really met her, not properly. "You've changed, Hector." It was the truth, and it was all Paris could settle on at the moment._

"_We all change, Paris. Life is full of changes. But you have no need for jealousy. I could take one thousand wives, and I would still only have one brother." With that said the elder prince wrapped his arms around his younger brother and kissed the top of his head. "Now come back to Troy, Paris. We can speak of this further at a later time." Hector turned from Paris and returned to Aeton, taking his reigns in his hand._

_Paris sighed and looked over his shoulder, watching his brother. Did Hector really mean what he said? Or had he become so skilled in diplomacy that he knew what his brother wanted to hear? Paris turned slightly, still leaning against Abrax. "Do you love me, Hector?"_

_Hector turned again, a smile pulling at his lips. "More than anyone, Paris, though Apollo himself knows you don't deserve it."_

_Paris couldn't help but match his brother's grin. "I apologize for leaving."_

_Hector nodded and the smile faded off. "Apology accepted. Now let's make haste and get back, before anyone else realizes you've been gone." With that said Hector led his horse back up through the valley, and Paris followed quickly behind, both grateful for the conversation, but still feeling inexplicably sad. It was a quiet return to the city, and only when they made it to the stables were they discovered._

"_Paris! Where have you been? You should be in class with Itaxis!" The brothers both turned at the sound of their father's voice. Paris stood still, biting his lip. Was this it, then? Was Hector going to tell on him and get him into trouble?_

"_My apologies, father. I asked Paris to accompany me out this morning for archery practice. I neglected to mention it to Itaxis; the fault is mine."_

_Paris stared in muted shock at his brother. He had not expected Hector to provide an alibi._

"_I see," Priam said, looking as though he didn't believe the lie either. "Very well. As much as I admire your desire to spend time with your brother, Hector, do not forget that his classes are very important. There is more to being a prince than archery or sword play. Studies are important."_

"_Of course they are, father. I will apologize to Itaxis for taking Paris away. We haven't had much time together lately, I was curious to see how his skills had developed." Though Hector knew that his father didn't believe a word he said, he kept up the charade anyway. Not doing so would only prove to be detrimental._

"_Of course, and no doubt Paris was only too eager to accompany you," Priam turned his gaze on his youngest child, who refused to meet his eyes, which only caused the king to smile. "I suggest both of you go now to your duties, and perhaps tonight the three of us will have dinner together in my chamber?"_

"_Of course, father, that would be a delight. But for now I will see that Paris gets to his class. Come, brother," Hector bowed to his father before pulling Paris along behind him._

"_He didn't believe you," Paris said, following Hector into a deserted corridor._

"_No, he didn't. I never could lie to him," Hector said, before turning suddenly and standing tall before Paris. "I won't lie for you again, Paris. Though you may not see it yet, you do have a duty and a responsibility to Troy, and to our people." Paris nodded, though he didn't want to acknowledge his brother's truth. Not yet. Hector advanced on him again, laying a hand on his brother's cheek. "You also have a responsibility to me, Paris. It would break my heart to see you leave, as much as it breaks now to see you unhappy. I promise we will spend more time together."_

_Paris looked up at Hector, a hopeful expression on his face. "Will we really?" He couldn't help but ask._

_Hector smiled and nodded, patting the young man's cheek. "I promise. Now go to your studies, and I'll see you tonight for dinner with father."_

His eyes fixed on the wall without really looking at it, Paris was so caught in thoughts about his family that he did not hear footsteps on the stairs descending into the cabin. Menelaus stood before him momentarily, greedy eyes on the back on the Trojan prince. Ever since the brothers' visit to his city, the king had found the young man's beauty to be captivating, and if it had not been for the great desire to agree to peace terms with Troy, he would have bedded him before the pair had left – and it would have mattered little had it been consensual or not.

For now though he was more than pleased to see the young man lying prone at his disposal, to do with as he pleased. He longed now to reach out and grab the youth, to assault and harm him, to make him pay for stealing his wife. But he had to restrain himself for now, for he had greater plans for Paris of Troy. He did not want to break the boy too early. But he could still have a bit of fun.

"Young prince Paris," he stated, loud and clear, watching as the young man spun around, frightened eyes looking at him from behind damp curls of hair. "Welcome," he stated, watching the young man's face. Paris looked curious, uncertain of what was to be expected. "Did I catch you in a fantasy? Did it involve your brother, coming to rescue you? For surely that is now your only hope! Hector is a man of honour, and respect, as is your father. But you have sullied their name, young Paris, and for that they must pay the sacrifice. Of course family must take priority, but they should have culled you from the pack long ago, for you are weak and of little use."

"Your words have no effect on me." Mustering all the courage he possessed, Paris drew himself up, not wanting to appear weak in front of the Spartan king.

With no warning Menelaus let fly his right hand, his open palm catching Paris' cheek. "Then perhaps my hand shall, you arrogant whelp!" Gripping the front of Paris' tunic, delighting in the momentary surge of panic on the young man's face, Menelaus hauled him up and off of the bed. "Do you truly believe that your brother will come for you? When you have brought nothing but shame upon your family?" Menelaus reached out with his other hand to grab Paris' hair, pulling his head back. "I bet that right now he is sinking the depth of his manhood into my wife," the Spartan king spat out, twisting the hair harder and yanking again.

Paris winced but did not cry out. "She is no longer your wife, not after fleeing to Troy with me." He knew it was foolish to engage the other man in a verbal sparring match (because it would likely only end with physical harm done to him) but Paris could not back down.

"Oh you believe that, do you? She is my property, young prince! You have stolen from me, and that is unforgivable! But now you pay the price, for now you have become my property, and there is nothing your brother or your father can do about it." He stared down into Paris' eyes, torn between loathing and desire. Instead he settled for rage and slammed his fist into the prince's stomach, still holding him by the hair as he wobbled on his feet. "Helen will see that whatever pretty words you whispered into her ear are nothing in comparison to my strength! She will become nothing more than a whore to Troy's soldiers, to be passed around while you are gone."

"You lie," Paris barely managed to wheeze out, the breath still knocked from him.

Menelaus laughed, releasing the young man and pushing him until he fell back onto the bed. "You are amusing to me, Paris of Troy. Despite being untrustworthy yourself, the trust you place in others is unending. But it matters little, what happens to Helen, for she is no longer worthy of my name. For now I have a new beauty, new property to call my own." Menelaus descended down quickly over Paris, pinning the smaller man underneath him. "Now I have you, Paris of Troy. Now you belong to me, and you will remain at my side until I tire of you, at which time I will have you killed and fed to my dogs."

Menelaus rose from the bed, standing before Paris, eyes gleaming in a rage. "But I will restrain myself for now, little prince. Your desecration will be a scene for all of Sparta to witness! Enjoy your time at sea, young prince, for when we reach the shores of my home land, you will be begging for death."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Notes** I know there's some smattering of information on Helen's past out there, but I created something of my own making for her. It doesn't really impact much and will never be spoken of again in the story except for a brief mention here. Also - with the except of Aeneas and Lysander, all of Hector's men are characters of my creation.

* * *

Hector strode into the courtyard, his mere presence demanding that all eyes focus on him. Noting with relief that his father lingered among the men, Hector made his way toward the King. Priam gripped Hector's arm once he got within reach, his eyes rising to meet his son's.

"I see you have returned to plan for tomorrow's activities. Your men await your command, my son." Priam held fast to Hector's arm until his eldest looked him in the eyes, and a brief moment of silence lapsed before Hector spoke.

"I would seek counsel with you before I make any definite plans, father. For now I wish only to assemble the group I will bring with me. Will you be returning to your chambers any time soon? I would prefer to discuss with you in private." Accepting his son's prod to reconvene momentarily in a place of privacy, Priam gripped Hector's arm with both hands.

"I shall return momentarily, Hector. Once you are finished with what matters concern you here, please seek me out." Removing his hands from his eldest son's arm, King Priam looked around at the soldiers surrounding him before turning and heading into the palace. Once his father was gone, Hector called his two most trusted captains to his side.

"Lysander; Aeneas." Beckoning the men to join him, he hoped neither of the two would rebuff his decision to lead a party to look for his brother. He knew it was a decision he was making with his heart and not his mind, and he worried that his resolve would lessen were his decision questioned by those he trusted most. "After giving the matter some thought, I have decided to lead a search party myself, to seek for my brother."

"As expected, my Lord. I would only be too glad to accompany you during this time of need, if you see fit to accept me into your party," Lysander offered readily, which somewhat startled Hector.

"Would you really, Lysander? You do not think it foolish, then?" Hector knew he should not be asking for disagreement to his plans, but he'd expected to need a little more force when asking for recruits to follow him to Sparta.

"Foolish or not, Hector, he is your brother, and only a fool would question his importance to both you and the king. The mission is an honour to any who calls Troy his mother."

"We have discussed the matter already with your father, Hector. Lysander will accompany you, and I will remain behind to lead the forces of Troy, as long as you find me worthy of such a task." Aeneas bowed slightly to the prince before looking into his face and meeting his eyes, already confident he would be named captain in Hector's absence.

Hector was stunned into silence, the devotion of his two most trusted captains doing much to ease his fear regarding the search party. "I count it a blessing to have both of you in my services. You shall indeed captain Troy in my absence, Aeneas. I thank you for your offer." Clasping his friend's arm, Hector felt relief that the men had had the foresight to address this problem themselves, as his thoughts regrettably lay solely on his brother's safety, having temporarily forgotten the defence of his city. "As for you, Lysander, I gladly accept your offer to accompany me. I would benefit greatly from your presence, and your experience."

Lysander bowed his head in Hector's direction, a smile on his lips then. "With this matter settled then, shall we look to other members of the party?" Hector nodded, feeling much more confident in finding volunteers now that both Lysander and Aeneas supported his decision.

"There have been some already who have volunteered to accompany you, my lord. The twins, Christos and Theoderi, were the first to approach me on the subject, and they declared that Eiriodos had expressed an interest as well. Lysander has received word from Niko and Anton that they seek a place in our lines. I would consider those five more than worthy to be given a spot." Hector regarded Aeneas with the oddest of expressions.

"You speak as though this mission is of the greatest honour, Aeneas." Aeneas did not reply, but instead turned his gaze to Lysander, who wore a grin that did little to set Hector's heart as ease. "Come now, do not fix me with your mocking gazes, my friends. This is a dangerous mission, and one that I do not feel entirely comfortable with asking my men to accompany me on."

"My Lord," Lysander began, clasping Hector on the shoulder, "As soldiers of Troy, each of us swore an oath to protect this city and its people, most of all you and your kin. None of us would stand idly by while your brother suffers at the hands of the Spartans. There is honour is this mission, prince Hector."

Hector raised his own arm, one hand gripping Lysander's shoulder. "One would assume from your tone that this death trap is something you have waited for since birth." Barely containing the smile that threatened to split apart his lips, the Trojan captain chuckled softly.

"Any mission spent under your command, my friend, is a mission worth waiting for. Come now, be not surprised by the dedication of your men towards you. We live to serve Troy, and it is under you that we would live to serve." His smile fading, Lysander's voice took on a more serious tone. "I, for one, know how much your brother means to you. It truly is an honour to be able to aide you in getting him back."

Hector was silenced by the comment, unable to do anything but nod. Knowing that he had such dedicated men serving under him did much to quell the fear the crown prince felt. Stealing into Sparta and retrieving Paris would be no easy task. The fact that his men were honoured to partake in such a mission nearly moved him to tears, for he knew that they did it for him. What had he done to deserve such dedication?

"How many would you accept for this mission, Hector? Surely a smaller party would be the better option." Thankful for the distraction of Aeneas' question, Hector was certain the older man must have known how much the subject touched him. A nod of appreciation given to him, Hector returned to making plans.

"I agree with Aeneas, my lord. Unless we brought the entire army with us, there would be little hope of masking many men. I would imagine ten should be enough for this undertaking, provided we have the right plan." Nodding his agreement, Hector contemplated who else among his army would be suitable to join the party.

"I would advise that we sail to a village outside of Sparta. It will take longer for us to get to our destination, but it would be safer. Menelaus will expect a direct attack, if he expects one at all. We must take precautions."

"I agree. I also think it would be a good plan for our group to split up and meet again inside the city. I doubt ten of us together would have an easy time coming into Sparta unannounced." As Lysander and Aeneas continued debating plans, Hector sighed, his mind caught again with thoughts of his brother. _Damn you, Paris. You always seem to complicate matters for me, even when you're not around!_

"My lord? Are we interrupting?" Startled out of his thoughts, Hector had been so immersed in memories that he had forgotten he was even out among his men in the courtyard. Smiling sheepishly, the prince nodded an apology.

"Forgive me; it seems I am perhaps too troubled to make clear plans at the moment." Feeling a hand grip his shoulder, Hector raised his eyes to meet Aeneas'.

"Of course. Go seek counsel with your father, Hector, and we shall work out some ideas for you to think of later."

Feeling as though he ought to protest, one look from Aeneas told the younger man that he would be wise to heed the elder's suggestion. Nodding to his captains as he took his leave, Hector hurried from the courtyard, making for the palace. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, Hector sought refuge in the quiet halls; while taking care of matters concerning his men was a necessary practice, his mind had once more become clouded with other thoughts. Hector entered the hall in which his father's chamber lay and came soon before the door. Without hesitation he entered the room, his eyes searching for his father.

"There you are, my son. Have you assembled your crew?" Catching sight of Priam seated upon the edge of his bed, Hector sat down beside him.

"I have. Aeneas has volunteered to stay behind and captain Troy's defences during my absence. I could not have made a better decision myself."

"No indeed. Aeneas has long served us, and he will protect the city well in your absence," Priam agreed. "Lysander travels with you, then?" The king asked, remembering the brief discussion he'd held with the two before Hector had returned.

"He does. If he had not volunteered, I would have asked him to join me. I will benefit from his quick thinking and cool head. I fear I may be lacking both of those before this journey is over." Hector fixed his gaze on the wall, not wanting to give in to the grief he felt threatening to overtake him. No matter what danger his younger brother had ever found himself in before, Hector had always been able to save him. This uncertainty was nearly too much for him to bear.

Priam watched his eldest son, more than aware of the feelings that threatened to pull him in two. "Do not wallow in guilt, my son. You could have done nothing to prevent this." Startled by his father's comment, Hector looked at him. If he knew his father at all, the man had only broached the subject because he himself was feeling a touch of guilt.

"I fear it can't be helped, father. No matter what thoughts enter my mind, I cannot help but take the blame. All my life, I have been responsible for Paris. Not before today has he ever refused my wishes. If only he had not fought, as I had asked of him. I could have ordered him inside. I should have." Rising from the bed, Hector began pacing. He did not want to break down in front of his father.

"Hector, please, you must stop this. You cannot control Paris. None of us can. I too could have ordered him not to fight. But he was set in his decision and there was nothing we could do. It was his right to fight Menelaus, and it would have been wrong of you to take that from him."

"But why did I not order him inside once he had bested the Spartan King? The thought never even crossed my mind!"

Priam couldn't help but smile at the question, mostly because he knew the answer far too well. "Of course it didn't, my son. None of us expected Paris to win. When he did, our hearts were too swelled with pride to think of anything else. You didn't order him inside because you didn't think it necessary. Nor did I, at that time. In all honesty, how were we to suspect that he would become a target for abduction? In all my years ruling my kingdom, never did I consider this could happen to my own son. I, too, should have been better prepared." Rising to meet Hector, Priam gripped his eldest son's shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. As Hector looked into his father's eyes, he felt his strength begin to lessen. Throwing his arms around the King, Hector allowed his head to sink to his father's shoulder.

"I have never felt such guilt before, father. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to Paris. He has always been mine to protect, and now I can do nothing but wait and hope." Feeling his eyes go damp with tears, Hector clamped them more tightly shut.

"I know, my son. Long have I fought to shelter Paris from any danger, but I see now perhaps that was my folly. I should never have allowed him to grow up as he did. He was not a warrior, and I never forced to become one." Priam too felt guilt gnawing at his heart, fear for his youngest child eating away at him.

Tightening his grasp on his father, Hector was speaking as much for Priam's sake as he was for his own. "Do not say that, father. You did only what you thought best. I don't believe Paris was born to be a warrior, he never did take much of a liking to swordplay. I believe he learned the sword only to make the both of us happy."

Pulling away from his son, Priam sat on the bed again and tried to focus through his grief. "I fear that is a true statement, Hector. I still feel as though I have failed him, in some way. But I suppose that is natural for any parent when they witness their child in a dangerous situation."

Hector resumed pacing in front of his father's bed. "None have failed Paris more than I. If I had paid more attention upon the field, I would have seen what was transpiring. I even saw the giant Ajax as he made for Paris, why did I not at least shout a warning to him? I was too caught up in my own battles to pay attention. I failed my brother, at the moment when he most needed me." Turning away from his father, Hector could feel nothing but despair.

"Hector, you know that is false. You could have done nothing more. Paris chose to fight, and you could not risk moments to watch over him on the field of battle. You know that." Priam watched as Hector continued to pace, wishing there was more he could do for Hector.

"Nothing more; you say that as though there was actually something I had done for him, father. I was of no help to Paris at all."

"On the contrary, Hector, you know Paris gained courage from your presence. Half his reason for fighting was to prove himself to you."

Hector whirled around to face his father, curious eyes seeking Priam's. "Did he tell you that?"

The king nodded. "We spoke last night, before he retired to his chambers. He wanted you to be proud of him, Hector. He desired nothing more than to be worthy of your affection."

"The fool! No matter how many times I've told him that he does not need to prove himself to me, he still tries. No matter what he does in life, he will always be my little brother, and I will always love him for it. That has never been enough for him, though." Hector frowned at the thought, annoyed with his brother.

"I know, my son, and I share your feelings. But we both know how stubborn Paris can be. He was always a strong-willed child, and that trait has not lessened any with age. How he reminds me of your mother," Priam admitted with a sigh, and that was enough to stop Hector's pacing. When he met his father's eyes, he was shocked to see how old the king looked at that moment. "How I wish he'd not been taken, Hector. How I wish he were here, right at this moment! I cannot bear the thought of losing him."

Hector stopped before his father, leaning down in front of him and taking the elder's hands. "You won't lose him, father, I promise I will bring him back."

Priam nodded, grateful for this moment of solitude with his older son. "I have faith that you will, Hector. But now, let us set aside our emotions and turn instead to plans." Both men grateful for the distraction of planning, they laid their emotions aside and put their heads to use, plotting strategies.

* * *

Unbeknownst to father and son, their talk had not gone unheard. Midway through the conversation a figure had crept before the door, listening in on the private words of the king and prince. Now that the conversation had shifted to battle, the figure slid silently away from the king's chamber, back down the hall towards it's own quarters. Entering the room and sitting upon the bed, Helen picked up the glass of water on the table beside her, taking a sip and forcing herself not to shed tears.

But hearing the words of care and comfort expressed so freely between father and son had struck a nerve with the young woman. Her own childhood having been devoid of the attention of loving parents, she had been delighted to see how affectionate Priam was with his children, and also how quickly he had warmed to her. She truly felt as though she were at home here in Troy, a feeling that had eluded her life until now. Her mind already thinking of her past, she could not stop the array of memories that flitted through her head. Having grown up with a mother who cared little for her, and a father who cared a little too much for the drink, her childhood had been neither pleasant nor comforting. In fact it seemed that her parents only took notice of her once suitors began calling at her door, and when the King of Sparta himself expressed interest in her they rejoiced. Not hesitating to rid themselves of their burden, they had accepted the King's first offer of money and land in exchange for her hand in marriage. Against her wishes she had been sent off to live with the brutish man, his interest in her opinions even less existent than her parent's.

Not until she had met Paris had Helen ever experienced love and affection from a man. She knew them only to be loud, rough and brutish, obsessive to the point of death over what they deemed to be their property, including women. Paris had been none of those things. He had been quiet, tender and charming, promising her freedom if she followed him to Troy. She had shivered at his touch and nearly swooned at his kiss. He was a man of immense beauty and never ending care and concern for her well being. His interest in her lay not only in their love making, but also in her thoughts and ideas. He talked to her, had conversations with her and never once had he mocked her opinions. All through her childhood, Helen had been afraid to say anything, for fear of someone taking offence or insult. Most of all, though, she had feared being ignored. At least when her thoughts provoked anger, it was proof that someone was listening. But when they provoked nothing, not even angry comments, it meant that her thoughts were useless. More often than not, that was the reaction she had gotten from anyone she had deigned to speak to; Menelaus would often ignore whatever she had to say. But as for Paris, the Trojan Prince had struck up a genuine conversation with her the first chance he had gotten, and he never seemed to tire of speaking to her. How she longed for his conversation now.

Struggling against tears she forced herself to calm, controlling each breath expelled from her mouth. Once she thought herself well enough to return to the company of others she left her room, walking down to the end of the hallway. Since the door there was open, Helen entered the chamber, finding the target of her search sitting in a chair at the window, her son in her arms.

"Andromache? I'm not intruding upon you, am I?" Hearing her name, the crown princess of Troy turned, fixing her gaze upon her guest. With a forced smile, Andromache shook her head, gesturing for Helen to join her. Nodding gratefully, Helen slid into the chair at her side, her eyes fixed on Andromache and her child. She hoped one day to be in the elder woman's position, cradling the child of she and Paris. Closing her eyes and pushing such thoughts from her mind, Helen looked up to meet Andromache's eyes.

"How are you faring, Helen? I would be all but heartbroken were it Hector who had been taken. I cannot imagine the impact these past few days have had upon you." Placing her son in the cradle that stood to her other side, Andromache then leaned forward in her chair, her graceful hands clasping over Helen's.

"While I am frightened and weary, and I fear I shall not sleep for the following days, I must say that I believe myself to be holding up alright. Now is not the time for tears to prevail. I must be strong." Hearing Andromache's mouth cluck in a mixture of sympathy and disagreement, Helen turned her eyes on the window.

"Nonsense, Helen. Your lover has been taken by the enemy, by your former captor." Noting the other's refusal to use husband to refer to Menelaus, Helen held fast to her beliefs.

"No my friend, you are wrong. While Paris and I are lovers, I have known him for so short a time. But to the King and your husband, to you even, he must mean so much more. I cannot expect any of you to hasten to my emotional needs. I would wish to be strong as a means of helping, in some small way at least." Pausing to allow her words to sink in, Helen then continued. "It was due to my actions that this whole mess has happened. It is only right that I seek to lend help somehow." Returning her gaze to meet the other's, Helen willed herself to be strong. As badly as she wanted to collapse in tears into Andromache's arms, she would not allow it of herself.

"Helen, noble are your intentions, but you owe us nothing. Was Paris not the one who offered the invitation? He is as much at fault as you. But if you truly seek someone to blame, why not place that burden upon the shoulders of the Spartan king? If he had not been so horrible a partner, you would have had no cause to leave him." Startled that she had not ventured down this avenue of thought, Helen could only stare back and watch as the corners of Andromache's mouth turned up in a smile. "What does it accomplish, to burden yourself with blame?" As the words were spoken, Helen nodded.

"You give wise advice, Andromache. I thank you for it." Pushing a smile up to her lips, Helen gripped the other woman's hand, squeezing it tightly. Her feelings of despair pushed aside for the time being, Helen studied the face of the woman seated beside her, noting that it was a face creased with lines of worry. "Andromache, how do you fare? As hard as it is for me that Paris is gone, it must be hard on you to know that your husband leaves on the sunrise, unsure of his return. Is there aught I could do for you?" Watching as the other woman shook her head, Helen was determined not to be turned down.

"I do appreciate your offer, Helen, but I am perfectly alright. It is not the first time Hector has left, and I am confident he will return to me well and whole. If I do feel any desire to speak with you, though, I shall seek you out. Perhaps once Hector has left, I might yet feel a greater need to release those thoughts that will undoubtedly cloud my mind. But as for now, I am as well as I could hope to be." Accepting the defeat for now, Helen would endeavour to make herself useful to her friend when both their lovers were gone. She would let Andromache off, for the time being.

Rising from her chair, Helen bowed her head to Andromache. "I shall take my leave of you now, my friend, and return to find you on the morrow. I hope that whatever time you are able to take with your beloved tonight be blessed." Turning toward the door, Helen left the room, her light steps carrying her back down toward the chamber she had shared with Paris. Knowing that it would be best if she attempted at least to get some sleep tonight, she knew she would lie awake until the sun came through her window some hours from now. She walked out to the balcony upon entering the room, taking a seat upon the chaise longue. When she first came to Troy, that very first night she spent with Paris, she had felt fear and worry due to her new surroundings and new family. Paris had taken note of this and had excused them both from the banquet held in their honour early, bringing her back to their chamber, onto the balcony. Begging her to place her trust in him, he had taken a seat upon the comfortable piece of furniture, beckoning her to join him. As she had laid back in his arms, overlooking the countryside of Troy, she had felt more at ease than she had in the formal dining room. Paris had kissed her cheek upon feeling her begin to calm, snuggling with her more tightly. They had spent the remainder of the night upon the balcony, talking about the future and what it would hold for them. Helen had awoken the following morning, surprised to find herself still on the balcony. The first thing she had seen upon opening her eyes had been the chocolate brown depths of Paris'; the first thing she had felt was his lips pressing softly against hers.

Looking out over the land now, Helen longed sorely for her lover. The stars set against the dark sky had always been a thing of beauty appreciated by Paris, and without him here now, the black seemed too dull and the stars seemed to fade. For the first time since the abduction had taken place, Helen wondered what would happen were Hector to return without Paris. Her world would die. She had come out of her state of emotional detachment at Paris' will only, and if it were taken from her now, she would never recover. Pressing her fingers to her eyes to prevent her tears from escaping, Helen scolded herself for allowing such thoughts to infiltrate her mind. She reminded herself that no matter what would be said to her by others, it was still her duty to remain strong for the rest of Paris' family. Despite Andromache's words of earlier, Helen knew the older woman would need her support eventually. And there was always the king himself – with no wife to comfort him, he too would need her support while both his sons were gone. Helen was determined to make herself useful to her new family, through whatever means possible.

* * *

Standing with his back straight and hands clutched behind himself, the King of Sparta stood at the head of his ship. At their current speed, they would reach Sparta in another day at most, and Menelaus intended to use every moment of the trip that remained to his advantage. He stared into the water that rushed past his vessel and wondered if Poseidon himself might be willing to speed him along. Perhaps an offering of some sort might be made.

Turning his mind to other matters, Menelaus walked back toward the stairs that would lead down to his room. Pausing at the top, he wondered if now would be a good time to play a bit more with Paris. There had been a certain streak of disobedience he had felt with the young prince earlier and he wished to quash it. His decision made, Menelaus stomped down the stairs, making no attempt to surprise Paris. Hoping that the prince would still be trembling from their last meeting, Menelaus was disappointed when Paris rose to greet him.

"So you rise before me once again, Prince of Troy. Did you not learn your lesson earlier?"

Holding Menelaus' gaze defiantly, Paris answered the King. "There was nothing to learn."

Keeping his distance from the Prince as to judge his thoughts better, Menelaus was incensed at the comment. "Then perhaps you ought to have paid better attention in class, little prince."

"Perhaps if the teacher had been more capable, and not so incompetent, I would have learned whatever it was he wanted me to learn." Refusing to back down from the staring contest, Paris wasn't quite sure what he hoped to accomplish by refuting the King. Perhaps it was only to keep his pride intact.

"Fool! As I have told you before, you would do well to heed my commands boy. Has it not yet sunk in that I have you under my control? You are mine, Paris of Troy, mine and mine alone." His eyes sparkling, Menelaus advanced on Paris, intent on pressing his physical domination of the prince. To his surprise, Paris did not seem cowed as he had been earlier.

"You may have me as your captive, Menelaus, but you will never have me under your control. I belong to no one." Halting mere feet from Paris, a grin spread to the King's lips.

"Not even Hector? After all he has done for you, do you not owe him that much?" Menelaus watched as Paris' eyes narrowed, and he wondered at how quickly bringing up Hector seemed to incense the younger man.

"My brother is not the sort of man who seeks ownership of others." Paris crossed his arms over his chest, unsure why he was engaging Menelaus in conversation. Perhaps it was only to serve as distraction from the constant sting in his arm where the Spartan had cut him during their battle. For such a relatively small cut, it seemed to pain the prince more than he cared to admit.

"Oh no? That's not what my ears have heard, prince of Troy," Menelaus continued, intent to push at buttons until he found the proper one. "I have heard that your brother declares ownership of you. In fact, when you both visited, I recall hearing that a few of my men expressed interest in you to your brother, and he threatened to cut out their tongues if ever he heard them speak of you in such a manner."

"You lie," Paris said, certain the Spartan was crafting a story of his own.

"What cause have I to lie to you about your brother, young prince? And why would you take offence to such a story? Your reputation indeed preceded your visit, Paris of Troy. Compared to your brother, who is loyal and responsible to his king and kingdom, you are nothing more than Troy's whore, a bedder of women and dogs alike! I have heard it said that you would gladly take any to bed who show an interest, woman or man. The gods do not create beauty such as yours if they do not intend for it to be used." Menelaus felt immensely pleased with himself as he watched Paris fight to control himself, his eyes narrowing and cheeks flushing in anger – or embarrassment?

"Speak of me as you will, Menelaus, for it is better to be loved by many than none at all." Paris turned his back on the king then, worry that if their conversation continued, it would only lead down roads he did not wish it to venture down.

"How many exactly have professed their love for you, I wonder? How many seek to protect you, no matter what grievance you give them? You risk open war with my nation solely for a woman, and instead of throwing you both overboard, your brother seeks still to protect you?" Menelaus paused, wishing Paris hadn't turned away from him. How he longed to see the look on the young man's face. "I wonder why that is."

"He is my brother," Paris replied, though he felt at this stage that any words at all would be an admission – as would silence.

"And what do you do for your brother, to keep his protection, I wonder?" Advancing on Paris, Menelaus roughly shoved the young man against the wall, pinning him forcefully as one hand snaked its way underneath his tunic, his fingers squeezing the flesh of the prince's backside. "What do you offer him, that his wife can't?"

Paris pressed his lips together, refusing to cry out though Menelaus' grip was strong. He would not give the Spartan the pleasure.

"Brotherly love and affection, or a skilled tongue and a tight ass?" Menelaus grinned as he felt the Trojan prince stiffen beneath him, Paris' simple reactions telling him far more than words ever could. "I know about you, young Paris. What would your father say if he knew? Tempting your brother the way you do, what would his wife say if she knew? Hector has a son now, does he not? And still you seek the bed of your brother, don't you?"

Paris shut his eyes and kept his lips pressed tightly together, refusing to listen to the Spartan's words. What he and Hector shared was their business and no one else's! He would not allow Menelaus to take that from him.

"You sicken me, Paris of Troy." Menelaus backed away, entertained now and having gotten the ammunition he needed to press the prince's buttons. "But yet your beauty is captivating, and if it's good enough for Hector of Troy, then it will be sufficient for me. For a time, at least." Menelaus left the room then, retreating back up the stairs to check on his crew.

Paris remained against the wall, eyes closed and lips pressed tightly together. He'd never thought of his relationship with his brother in a negative light before, never willing to see it the way others might choose to see it. He loved Hector, and Hector loved him. What did it matter if the rest of the world didn't understand it?


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Notes** Alright, for anyone who has read the old version - this chapter is completely different. I always thought Paris had given in a little too easily, so in the re-write I have fixed that. Menelaus is going to have to work to get his prize to be willing!

* * *

Two days at sea, kept in the cabin with no view of the open water, had Paris dreaming of dirt and soil and rocks, of trees and grass and open fields, but above all else it had him dreaming of escape. The confines of the ship were stifling, the wood slats more of an iron cage that restricted the roaming beast of his soul. Menelaus continued to torment him often throughout the day, taunting him and attempting to break his spirit using whatever means the Greek king managed to conjure up. But as harsh as the daylight hours were, the night was entirely worse. The prince was chained to Menelaus' bed post, watched over by a guard as the king slept. Paris was forced to sit on the floor, his chains too short to allow for anything resembling a comfortable night's rest.

Paris knew from a brief conversation with the Spartan this morning that today they would be landing at the shores of the brute's kingdom. While Paris certainly hadn't enjoyed his time spent on the ship, his stomach muscles were tense at the thought of being in the man's homeland, at his palace. He was certain things would get worse there, that Menelaus would indeed step up his abuse. He was a little surprised he hadn't been touched very much during the trip, but he supposed Menelaus wanted to wait until he was in the comfort and privacy of his palace in order to start exacting his physical revenge. He knew his only chance in escape lay during the potentially hectic time of disembarkation, provided he would have his shackles removed to walk.

His thoughts had drifted through the week, bouncing back and forth between worrying about his current predicament to thinking about his family, about Helen and his father, and Hector…

Was his brother coming after him? Paris wanted to think he was, but there was no way for him to know. What if they had decided that it simply wouldn't be worth it? That the risk to Troy would be too great? What if his father had decided that allowing Menelaus to have him would be repayment for stealing Helen? He knew the original bond he had destroyed between Troy and Sparta had been important to his father and to their kingdom, so what if the king had realized that protecting the country was indeed more important than his son? After all, Paris was the second born, the one of lesser importance. The one who could be sacrificed. It also wouldn't be advisable to risk Hector's life or the lives of any warriors he brought with him, just to try and save him. Too many Trojan lives had already been lost due to his foolish actions. Certainly his father would not risk any further harm to be done.

Maybe he really would be stuck with Menelaus for the rest of his life, if he didn't manage to somehow escape. He didn't want to think of that as a possibility, but it existed. Maybe he would learn first hand exactly what Helen had gone through before leaving with him. He would learn to truly understand her decision to flee, and perhaps he would spend his days hoping for someone to appear and take him away. Unless he managed to escape on his own.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by footsteps on the stairs. As always it was Menelaus, and his eyes locked onto Paris the moment he was in view. "Are you ready for my triumphant return to my homeland, little prince? Are you ready to take your place at my side, to show your subservience before my people?" Menelaus crouched beside Paris on the floor, his body half over the prince's.

Paris refused to answer or even meet the king's gaze. While he'd decided it would be best to not outright refuse anything the Spartan asked, he was not yet prepared to give in without a fight either.

"If I were you, Paris, I would rethink my strategy. Though your pride is at risk, you will soon be in my land, surrounded by my people. The last think you want to do is make me angry." Menelaus curled his fingers in the brown hair and pulled the younger man's head back, pressing his lips to the prince's. The kiss was rough and demanding, the strain on Paris' neck painful as his head was kept pulled back. Finally Menelaus released him and stood up, his lips curled in a grin.

"You should rise and fix yourself, prince. We'll be docking very shortly." With this comment the king turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving Paris alone again. Instead of following the king's advice, Paris remained exactly where he was, sitting on the floor. He thought back to when he and Hector had arrived in the port of Sparta, trying to remember every detail, every possibility for escape. Perhaps he could jump from the boat, and swim down the shore? Of course Menelaus would probably only order his men to spear him, but better to die quickly while trying to escape than die slowly after suffering abuse at the Spartan's hands.

Moments later he both felt and heard as the boat pulled in to dock, remaining on the floor as the ship jerked and rolled. He heard yells from above as men coordinated the landing, and soon enough the boat stopped its rollicking motions, settling down. The splash of the water as the anchor was thrown overboard was loud, even from down below. He wondered how long it would take the crew to finish; how long it would take before Menelaus came down to retrieve him. How would the Spartans react to seeing him, knowing his treachery? He felt his heart begin to race, and the muscles of his stomach clenched and contracted and soon enough he'd pushed himself to his feet, determined to stave off his nerves with a few brisk paces. His legs were a little stiff and he was suddenly aware of pain in his lower back, as though his body were giving up its own fight now that his mind was concerned for his future. He stood still momentarily, a hand on the wall, his eyes closed while he forced himself to take deep and calming breaths. Then he heard footsteps descending, and he opened his eyes to a vision of Menelaus coming down into the cabin, his face twisted in a sneer.

"It's time, little prince of Troy. Prepare to lay eyes upon your new home for years to come." Menelaus advanced on him, like a hunter readying itself to pounce upon its prey. Paris forced himself to stand straight and strong, refusing to flinch or shrink away. Menelaus would not take away his pride. "I have been thinking, young Paris, about your attire for this occasion. I would like for my people to know exactly why it is that you are here. So I have come to a decision." Pausing only long enough for Paris to shoot him a confused look, Menelaus reached out and grabbed the Trojan's armour, yanking viciously on the straps until he'd pulled it from him. There the prince stood, naked and trying not to tremble.

Paris was frozen in shock, not having expected this turn of events. Surely, Menelaus was playing with him. But as he watched the Spartan king leering at him, Paris cursed himself for not preparing for this. He should have expected it, really. Menelaus wanted to shame him, wanted to beat him down as quickly as possible.

"Yes, you look much better suited to your arrival party now, young prince of Troy, but you are missing one final piece," Menelaus said with a sneer, before reaching into the fold of his robe and drawing out a rope. He moved toward Paris, fastening a loop around the prince's neck. "In case you decide to run off, I thought you ought to be leashed."

Paris said nothing and allowed no emotion to show on his face. He would not give Menelaus the pleasure. The king then produced another length of rope and tied the prince's hands together, the knots tight against the skin.

"There! Now you're a proper slave, boy. Come, my kingdom awaits!" Menelaus moved toward the stairs and Paris followed, desperate to reach up and remove the rope from around his neck. But there was nowhere to go. Instead he walked two paces behind Menelaus, hoping he could maintain the stone mask on his face on their way to the palace. They reached the deck and immediately Paris looked around, noting that the path up from the port to the palace was lined with guards and villagers.

The sound of the Spartans was loud and deafening, men and women and children, all had turned out for the return of their king, and they all feasted their eyes on the young man who walked behind him, leashed and naked. It did not take long for word of his identity to spread, and soon he was greeted with just as many jeers as Menelaus was greeted with welcome, some Spartan villagers even reaching out through the guards, grabbing and slapping and groping, and through it all Paris' expression somehow remained neutral, set in stone.

Menelaus dragged him through every street of the city, allowed every inhabitant of Sparta to greet him and see the spoils of war he'd brought home. Even children sought to mock him, throwing mud or rocks at him, laughing at every involuntary flinch his body made. It was the exact opposite of his return to Troy only a few days prior, as he'd lead Helen through the streets of his home, showing her to his people as the newest jewel of their city.

The walk through the city felt agonizingly long, each step taken made Paris feel one step further away from home, away from his own people. Was this truly what fate had in store for him? Had he angered the Gods, perhaps, when he'd taken Helen? Had he been so blind? He wished for a moment of solitude then, to think and to pray. Was there nothing he could do to twist fate again in his direction? Was there nothing he could offer to Apollo? After what felt like hours, they finally arrived at the palace, and Paris followed Menelaus up the steps, coming out onto a balcony, high enough above the crowd to be seen by all. He let his eyes wander momentarily, his nerves flaring again at the sheer number of people before him. There would be no escape today.

"My people," Menelaus dropped Paris' leash, stepping forward to receive the cheers of his kingdom, "we have returned today victorious!" The crowd roared its excitement at the return of their king. "Our raid on Troy was great; many Trojan soldiers were felled by the blows of our strong arms!" Again the roar was near deafening. Added to the yells were the sounds of metal on metal, many Spartan men banging weapons on their armour.

Paris felt even worse as he listened to the king's lies, desiring nothing more than to step up and denounce his claims, to speak the truth instead. The Greeks had lost far more soldiers than the Trojans - this battle had not been a victorious one for their nation at all. But he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the ground.

"While we sailed on the Trojans in order to exact revenge for the wrong done to our nation," at this comment, though Paris wasn't looking up, he could feel Menelaus' gaze on him, "we have returned with something of far greater value!" The king reached out and grabbed Paris' arm, roughly pulling him up to stand beside him, tugging on his hair to pull his head back, forcing him to show his face to the Spartans.

"I know many of you glanced upon this young man's face as we walked to the palace, and I would like to assure you that your eyes were not deceived! Gaze now upon the youngest prince of Troy!" Menelaus held Paris out in front of him, showing him off to the crowd. "This boy, for he is certainly no man, shall take the place of that which he stole from me! As Helen's beauty was the greatest in the land, so now is this boy's! He will pay for his trespasses, and he will serve to remind our great nation that we can trust no others!" Menelaus threw Paris to the ground roughly, raising his arms in triumph. "Glorious Sparta will stand alone and we will conquer all nations in our path!" The Spartan people continued their noise as Menelaus' words sent them into a frenzied pitch. Paris wanted to crawl back into the walls of the palace, to get away from the crowd. He felt sick to his stomach just then, awash with fury at himself for allowing Menelaus to embarrass him in such a manner – to embarrass Troy!

"Tonight is a night of celebration! The palace cooks will prepare a feast worthy of such an occasion and we will celebrate tonight, in this very courtyard and you are all invited! My people, we will celebrate our triumph together!" Menelaus stood before the crowd, his arms raised and fists shaking. Backing away from the front of the balcony, he reached down and grabbed Paris' arm, pulling him to his feet harshly and dragging him off into the palace, almost like a lion dragging its kill off to be devoured.

Paris fought to keep up with Menelaus, to keep the rope from choking him, and the king dragged him through corridor after corridor, anger emanating from every pore. Finally they turned into a room, its door held open by a young maid. The moment they stepped inside it was shut behind them and Paris felt himself thrown in the direction of the bed. Menelaus was right behind him, pressing down against him and covering his body. The weight on his chest made it hard for Paris to breathe. He had nowhere to look but up into the face of the Spartan king, the fury and hatred in his eyes shocking the young prince. It seemed as though the brutish man had kept the extent of his hatred in check, saving it for this very moment.

Placing a hand to Paris' throat, Menelaus looked down at him and started to laugh, the tone malicious and cruel. "Did you enjoy your introduction to my people, boy? That wasn't the end of things for the night, don't you worry. You will have a place of honour during the celebrations tonight!" Menelaus lowered his head until it was touching his captive's, enjoying every second of Paris struggling for breath. "Oh yes, little one, tonight will be a night you'll remember for the rest of your years!" Menelaus pushed himself up off of Paris, standing in the centre of the room. His malicious smile still in place, he watched as Paris sucked in air, trying to regain his breath.

"Effi!" Menelaus yelled out and the door to the room opened and in stepped the girl. "Prepare the boy. Fetch me when he's ready." The command given, the king stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Paris remained on the bed where he was, eyes on the girl. She looked familiar to him, and he wondered if she had been Helen's servant. He wasn't about to ask, though.

He watched as she set a basin of water on the dressing table, beckoning him over but turning her head the second he stood up. He walked over to join her, sitting cautiously down on the bench. Without meeting his eyes she dipped a cloth in the water and took his arm – the one that had been cut, and set about cleaning it. Paris tensed as the cold water touched his skin, especially around the area of the cut.

"Does it hurt?" She asked him quietly, stopping her actions.

"A little," he replied, though it was a bit of an understatement. He noticed that the skin was very red around the cut, and it hurt when she touched it.

"I think it may be infected," she said, disappearing from view back out into the hall, leaving him alone. He studied the table before him, eyes falling on a horsehair brush with golden strands weaved among the bristles. He was right – this had been Helen's room. He touched the brush, his fingers pulling at the hair, and thoughts of Helen filled his head. Unwillingly he remembered Menelaus' words about what would happen to Helen in his absence. He forced those thoughts from his head. Helen would come to no harm in Troy, for Trojan men were respectful and proper, unlike the Greeks. Helen would be safe. Hector would see to it.

The girl returned then, clutching a bottle in her hands. Paris quickly set the brush back down and she said nothing of it, unstopping the bottle instead and pouring some of the liquid onto a cloth. "This may sting," she said, before pressing it to the wound.

Paris sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth because it had stung – quite a lot. But he said nothing as she continued to clean the wound, though she did not bandage it. She then resumed washing the rest of his body, finishing with his arms and chest before moving to his back. He couldn't help but wonder what she was washing him for, and what exactly Menelaus had planned.

Just then the door opened again and from the heavy footsteps, Paris knew it was Menelaus. "Are you not done yet, girl?" He gruffly asked, coming to stand behind them.

"No, my lord. The cut on his arm was infected, I had to" Her words were cut off by a slap to the face, and Menelaus threw her away against the wall. Paris watched in shocked silence as the girl curled into a ball on the floor in front of the Spartan king, who then whirled on Paris.

"Well, that's good enough. Come, prince. Time to claim your place at the centre of the celebration." Menelaus stood before Paris, his eyes on the young man's body. "But first something for you," he said, pulling out an iron collar. "Come now, let's see it on you!" Paris stiffened as Menelaus fastened the collar around his neck, locking it into place with a length of chain. "Brilliant, this will work perfectly. Now come! I have food and wine waiting, and a whole mass of my people!" Menelaus yanked on the chain and Paris stumbled from the bench, falling to the floor at the king's feet. Menelaus laughed, and before following the king from the room Paris' eyes strayed to the girl, still curled against the wall. He was surprised to see though that once Menelaus' back was turned, she looked up and met his eyes, and Paris was certain then that he'd met her before.

There was no time to contemplate that though as he was dragged from the room by Menelaus, dragged all the way out of the palace and into the courtyard. The chatter of the Spartans died down when Menelaus appeared, to be replaced moments later by cheers for the king. Paris stood beside him, still naked, and now hungry from the scent of roasting meat. He hadn't been fed on the ship, and now his eyes came to rest unwillingly on the roast boar. He doubted he would be fed, and considered it torture simply to keep him here within scent.

"Spartans!" Menelaus greeted his people with a roar, raising his arms and jerking on Paris' chain, pulling him closer. "I welcome you to my feast! I won't bore you with long winded speeches, so let us get to feasting!" He pulled Paris along behind him as he made his way to the closest table, where his most trusted captains sat. Taking a seat at the end, Menelaus then looped the chain attached to Paris' neck around the leg of the table. "Sit, prince! Down there at my feet, where you belong!"

Not wishing to cause more of a scene in front of the Spartans, Paris sunk down to the dirt, leaning against the table. He kept his sight on the ground, avoiding the gazes of the villagers who looked upon him. He closed his eyes then, the smell of roast meat driving him mad. He would not ask for food, though. He would sooner starve than ask Menelaus for anything.

"Ah, Paris, I do believe I am being rude as a host!" Menelaus boasted loudly, to a few laughs from the men at the table. "I have not offered you anything to eat! You must be starving, after two days at sea with no food!" Paris did not reply, not at all willing to play into Menelaus' games. "Come now, prince of Troy, you cannot mean to tell me that you do not hunger for my meat!" Again the table's occupants erupted into laughter at the king's comments, but still Paris refused to acknowledge him.

"Perhaps he only enjoys his meal when it is stolen and not freely given, my lord!" One of the men said, and the others laughed and hollered agreement.

Menelaus himself smirked, picking up a section of bone with some meat attached. "Regardless, whatever the prince's preference is, he will eat." Menelaus threw the bone onto the ground in front of Paris, leaning down to grab his hair and pull his head back. "Eat. I will not have you starve, not yet." The king sat back up but still Paris refused. His mouth watered for the boar, but pride stayed his hands. He would not eat like this, on his knees in the dirt like a dog!

When it was apparent to Menelaus that Paris was refusing the food the Spartan king stood up, standing before him. "Do you find my kingdom inhospitable, Paris of Troy?" He sneered, angry eyes on the boy. Still Paris refused to acknowledge him, and Menelaus reacted by reaching down and grabbing the back of Paris' head and forcing him down, until his cheek rested on the dirt. "Eat, you Trojan worm!" Menelaus let him go, only to deliver a kick to his side. Paris remained doubled over by the blow, crying out when a second kick struck him. Menelaus leaned down again, once more grabbing Paris by the hair and pulling his head up. He reached over and grabbed the bone he'd thrown down at him, stuffing it into the prince's mouth.

The villagers looked on and laughed, many drinking a toast to the fallen prince of Troy. While his people laughed and cheered, Menelaus himself crouched down in front of Paris, speaking into his ear. "You will eat, or I will force you to. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want to explore the second option. The more you refuse me, Paris of Troy, the harder you will suffer. Now eat." Shoving the prince back to the ground, Menelaus took up his seat again, raising his goblet of wine in a toast with his captains.

Paris sat on the ground, a sharp pain in his side where Menelaus had kicked him, the boar bone in one hand. Though his pride told him to throw the bone away, his stomach eventually won out, and he raised the food to his mouth, his teeth tearing a strip of meat from the bone. He chewed in silence, not once looking at anything save the ground. Menelaus himself glanced down again, grinning when he saw Paris eating from the bone. He would not have the boy defying him, not even over food.

The celebrations lasted well into the night, and soon enough Paris was forgotten again. He made himself as small as possible, sitting obediently for hours at Menelaus' feet. With every breath he felt a sharp pain in his side, and he feared that he'd been injured more severely than he'd initially thought. So it was better to be subservient for now, to avoid any further beatings. For now, his pride was better left checked and secured.

* * *

Paris stood in Menelaus' chamber, hands shackled and still naked. Menelaus stood before him, greedy eyes taking in the sight of the young prince, hands running over his smooth flesh. "And now, Paris of Troy, I offer you an ultimatum."

Paris held his breath then, wondering what the king could possibly have to offer him in terms of choices. Were one option swift death, Paris felt certain he should take it. He could not survive here in Sparta, not like this. "What are my choices?" He asked, his voice strong, though he felt weak.

"Your choices," Menelaus began, "Are simple. I will have you eventually, Paris, but the way in which I have you is yours. You may submit to me now, and no further unnecessary harm will be done to you. Or you may rebuke me again, and you will spend the night in a cage outside my palace, where rats and snakes alike will be your company."

Paris hesitated, knowing in the back of his head what Menelaus wanted, but still wanting confirmation. "What would be required of me to submit to you?" He asked, hoping that his voice would not betray the fear he felt.

Menelaus laughed before closing in on Paris, the stench of his wine-addled breath strong in the Trojan's face. "I would have you on your knees before me, little prince, with my cock in between your lips," the king said, his voice low and threatening.

Though he knew that submitting would be a smarter option in terms of self-preservation, Paris could not allow himself to do it. "Never," he said, spitting on the Spartan king. "I would rather die."

Menelaus hit him with a closed fist in the cheek, enraged. "To the cage it is, then! Mark my words, prince of Troy, you will not last long in Sparta, not without my protection. I would not be surprised if a man slipped past my guards in the night and gutted you while you slept, if you manage to find sleep at all!" Menelaus grabbed the chain that hung from Paris' neck, dragging him back through the corridors until they arrived outside.

There Paris saw a metal cage, barely tall enough to accommodate him sitting up, and watched as a guard opened it before being tripped and shoved behind the bars. "Good night young prince. May you have a pleasant sleep." Menelaus ground out before rising and striding back into the palace.

Paris sat in the cage, knees drawn up to his chest, left cheek still stinging after the punch. His whole body ached, and he would find no rest in the cage. He thought longingly of the bed in Menelaus' chamber – memories of spending hours there with Helen, the bed soft and comfortable. Now he would be forced to spend the night uncomfortably cramped in a cage, kept like a dog.

But at least his pride was still somewhat intact, for the time being.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Notes** Well hello again, five years later! I said I'd finish this eventually, didn't I? Granted when I said that, I honestly hadn't thought it would take me so long. But I'm finally back, because this story has never died in my head! I promise that this time I really will finish it! The chapters are all plotted out, and the desire for an end is there. Granted it still may take me a while (I don't mean years, more like months) because I'm quite busy with my job and with real life. But this thing should be finished within a year! Hopefully less than that, but I don't want to go making promises my previous track record so easily shatters. ;)  
One important note for anyone who's coming back to this - **the first four chapters have been completely overhauled and re-written!** Especially chapter 4. Completely different and required reading in order to understand chapter 5. But I recommend starting at chapter 1 again because I've added scenes and changed a few things around, and it's much better now, at least in my opinion. With that being said - I'll shut up now and let the story speak for itself! :)

* * *

Hector stood at the ship's helm, his eyes surveying the open water before him, white capped waves breaking against the side of the boat. It was the second day of travel now upon the water, and by nightfall they would reach the island of Mykonos, if good weather and wind held. After spending hours debating the best course of action with Priam and his captains, Hector had decided to detour their ship south, delaying their arrival to Greece by one day, but the detour would provide them with the cover they required, as well as an arrival to a more southern port in Greece. They travelled now on a ship with no decorated sail, and all of the men aboard had left the blue vestiges of Troy behind in their homeland, adopting robes of reddish brown, simple and worthy of sea faring merchants.

They would land on the southern tip of Greece, just north of Voles. There they would split. The twins, Christos and Theoderi, would journey into the city of Sparta looking to join the army. Anton, as the most skilled swordsman of the group, would follow and seek out a position in the King's palace guard. The two eldest members of the group, Eiriodos and Niko, would travel to Sparta as merchants and express an interest in peddling wares in the city.

The others would remain with Hector near the ship, taking it in turns to travel to Sparta seeking out news from the group. The only two not to set foot near Menelaus' realm were Hector and Lysander, for both were far too recognizable to the people of Sparta. Though it pained Hector to remain behind and do nothing, he knew that he had no other choice. If any Spartan recognized him, word would be sent to Menelaus, and Paris would be killed before Hector ever made it for his brother.

The only concern Hector now had was in hoping that Paris would last long enough to be rescued. He knew all too well that his brother had a skill for running his mouth, and had it not been for Hector's protection, Paris likely would have lost all his teeth by now for being punched in the face so often. Hector's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Our second day starts with a still strong wind," Lysander said, coming to stand beside the prince. "I would count that as a blessing for our voyage."

Hector looked to his friend with a smile, nodding to the comment. "I pray you are right, Lysander. We need all the help we can get for this undertaking."

"Your father said he would have the temple priests make daily sacrifices until we returned." Lysander made the comment knowing full well that Hector did not share in his father's dedication to the gods, curious if the young man would take up the herald of Apollo in order to secure aid for his brother.

"I hope they do not sacrifice in vain," Hector replied, wishing he could find more comfort in spirituality than he did. It wasn't that he didn't believe in Apollo and the other gods – he just didn't believe that they were quite as quick to interfere in mortal matters.

"Until we hear otherwise, my friend, I would advise that you remain in firm belief and confidence that Paris lives. What good does it do to embark on a voyage if you do not believe in it fully? We will find your brother, Hector, and we will bring him home. You must believe that." Lysander laid a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm and confident.

Hector wished he could believe as strongly.

* * *

Paris woke to a sharp stabbing pain in his neck, and upon opening his eyes he saw it was caused by a mere boy! Grabbing at the branch the child was using to poke him with, Paris snapped the twig in two, which only made the child laugh. "Trojan dog!" the boy yelled, before standing up and racing off in the opposite direction. Paris sat up and rubbed his neck, before rubbing his hands over his arms. He couldn't believe he'd actually managed to fall asleep out here on the hard stone of the palace steps, with not even a blanket or pillow. He certainly felt it in his body. Not only did his side still hurt from Menelaus' kicks of yesterday, but his back and legs were stiff from spending the night cramped in a cage on stone. His body ached in a way he'd never felt before, and his arm still throbbed from the cut he'd received from Menelaus. It was hard to believe that he'd fought the Spartan king no more than three days ago – back home in Troy.

Paris' thoughts immediately went to his home land, and to the people there whom he loved. Again he could not help but wonder if they were making plans to come for him or if he'd been forsaken by his kin. The worst of it simply lay in not knowing. If he had been forsaken as a sacrifice, then he would wish to know it and accept it. But there was no telling of what was occurring, and so his future was left to chance, and Paris wasn't sure how long he could go on faking bravado to the Spartan king, hiding behind the promise and threat of his brother.

If he was alone, he wanted to know as much.

"Prince Paris," a quiet voice all but whispered, and Paris turned his head then to see Menelaus' servant slave, the girl he'd thrown into the wall yesterday, standing by his cage. She held a jug and a loaf of bread. "I have been instructed to bring your breakfast," she said, still quiet.

"Thank you," Paris replied, watching as she set the items down within his reach.

She nodded and made to move away, but stopped suddenly. "How is your arm?" She asked, though she still refused to look directly at him.

"Better," he lied, remembering how little care Menelaus had shown for either of them when she'd pronounced that it was infected. He did not want to cause her any further troubles by helping him.

"Perhaps I will send the doctor," she said, before hurrying away at the sound of approaching footsteps. Paris grabbed the jug and drank, the cool water assuaging the thirst of the past few days. He then reached for the bread while his eyes scanned the area, curious from where the footsteps were coming.

He stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and watched as two palace guards descended the steps near him, silent in their patrol. Though he could see the sun beginning to rise over the mountain, he still shivered from a slight chill. While the night had not been cool, it had not exactly been warm either, and with no protection from the elements, he was a touch cold this morning.

If only he had room to stand, room to move, he could get blood flowing through his veins! But he barely had enough room to sit up, and not even enough to stretch his legs out straight. If Menelaus was intent on keeping him caged, he doubted how long he could last, for he was the sort of person who went mad when confined, not even the risk of his own health able to keep him rooted to one place.

_He'd fallen ill at the age of eight to a mysterious illness that no one had seen fit to explain to him. All young Paris knew was that he was coughing so much he began to fear he'd cough out a lung! He'd played into it at first, accepting all the attention heaped upon him by his parents and brother. By the end of the second day, though, when his father had refused to allow him out of his bed, Paris grew bored. He'd gladly have sacrificed one lung to the gods in order to be allowed outside to play!_

_On the third night, when everyone in the palace slept, Paris rose from his bed, ignoring how tired he felt, and made his way through the palace to the steps outside. There he crouched, hidden from view, waiting for the late night guard patrol to make their way across the square and out of sight. Then he'd make a run for it, off into the streets, heading for the stable. He would sleep there until morning, and then slip away on a horse. No one would be the wiser!_

_As he slipped out of the shadows and ran for the stable he was overtaken by a fit of coughing, so bad of which it forced him stop and double over. Fearing his noise would wake the whole town, Paris continued on in his struggle to make it to the stable, hoping to hide his coughs into the side of his father's favourite mount. He loved the horses, but his parents refused to let him ride them yet. They said he was too young – he said it wasn't fair! Hector had a horse of his own. Paris didn't want to wait until he was older!_

_Getting to the stable and pushing open the door, Paris practically fell inside, his coughing violent and overwhelming. He was barely able to breathe and feared for a moment that this fit would be his last – until he felt a hand on his back._

"_Paris! What are you doing out of bed? Father will have your head for this! You're supposed to be resting!"_

_Paris looked up into the worried face of his older brother but was unable to say much in response, for he couldn't stop coughing. With a sigh Hector leaned forward and picked his brother up, bothered at how light he felt. "Come on, I'll take you to Andromeda, she's the only one who likes you enough to help at this hour of the night!" Andromeda was one of the few women in the city who practised medicine, and she was the one most trusted by the boys' mother, Hecuba._

_Clutching his little brother in his arms, Hector made his way through the streets quickly, hoping no one would be woken by Paris' coughing the way he had been. "What were you thinking, anyway?" He whispered angrily to Paris, "Thought you'd get the horses sick too?"_

_Paris was confused by the question – was Hector serious? A person couldn't get a horse sick! Could they? "No," he managed to say before coughing again._

"_Why can't you just stay in bed, like you're told? You'll never get better if you're running around! Don't you get that?" Hector continued, looking around the street to ensure no one was watching._

"_I was," Paris started, cut off by a cough, "bored!" He buried his face into Hector's shoulder, shivering slightly. Funny, he hadn't been cold a moment ago!_

"_Bored!" Hector responded, his tone heavily annoyed. "You risk your health because you're bored! Don't you understand that you could die from this, Paris? If father tells you that you need to stay in bed and sleep, you need to listen!" Hector noticed his brother's shivers and hurriedly made his way to Andromeda's. Paris' skin was burning to the touch – not only did he still have this accursed cough, but now he was feverish as well!_

_Paris was stunned at his brother's words. He could die from this cough? How did one die from a cough? Would he really cough his lungs out? Was that how it happened? He pressed his mouth harder into his brother's shoulder, trying to keep from coughing again. Soon enough Hector reached his destination and knocked on the door, and moments later they were being ushered inside by an old woman._

"_Oh dear, has he gotten worse, Hector?" Andromeda asked, stopping to lay a hand against Paris' forehead._

"_He has a fever now. I found him in the stables! His coughing woke me." Hector stood, watching as Andromeda moved away to her cupboards, going through bottles of herbs._

"_Hector, light a fire for me, would you? I'll need to prepare him a drink," Andromeda said, finding what she was looking for. Hector moved to the fireplace and set about preparing a fire, leaving Paris alone on the chair, shivering and wishing that his brother would come back and pick him up again. Hector had been warm, and now Paris was cold. Cold, and afraid of coughing out a lung._

_Andromeda put a pot of water on the fire, sprinkling the herbs into it. "It is a good thing you brought him straight to me, Hector."_

"_Will he be okay?" Hector asked, nervous eyes flitting between Andromeda and his brother. He wished there was more he could do!_

"_Oh yes," the old woman said, stirring the pot. "Go sit with him, Hector, this will need a few minutes to brew."_

_Hector didn't need to be told twice, and even Paris had been listening to the old lady, his arms reaching out for his brother as another shiver overtook him. Hector picked his brother up again, worry gnawing at him. Paris' body was alarmingly hot, though his brother's teeth chattered from chills. "Andromeda?" He called out, unsure of what it was that he ought to be doing._

"_Just hold your brother, Hector, make him comfortable. This will be ready for him in a moment, my dear," the old lady advised, and Hector nodded even though she wasn't looking at him. So he sat down with Paris on his lap, frightened by the severity of his brother's illness._

"_You'll be okay, Paris," he said, though he found that hard to believe at the moment. Paris didn't respond, not that Hector had really expected him to, of course. Andromeda came to them then, holding out a cup of something that steamed._

"_Have him drink this, Hector," she said, handing it to him._

_Hector took it, unsure why she was making him do all the work. "Here Paris, drink this, you'll feel better," he said, offering the cup to his brother's lips. He poured a mouthful in, but Paris only spat it back out as another cough wracked his body. Looking to Andromeda again, Hector was frantic. "What do I do?" He asked her, confused and worried._

"_Here, I'll hold his head, and you pour it into his mouth. Natural reflexes will make him swallow," she said, and together they managed to get some of the drink down Paris' throat. To Hector's surprise, the drink calmed his brother's cough very quickly, and soon enough Paris was asleep on his lap._

"_Will he really be okay?" Hector asked Andromeda again, his arms tight around his brother._

"_What was he doing out, Hector?" The old woman asked, ignoring his question._

"_I don't know," Hector answered, "When I asked him he said he was bored," he explained, feeling annoyed at his brother. Why couldn't Paris just do what he was told?_

_Andromeda nodded and said nothing. "I'll have to tell your mother. We can't have him up and about every night, he'll never get any better! He needs to sleep."_

_Hector nodded, feeling tired himself. "Shall I take him back to the palace?" He asked, feeling better now that Paris was asleep again._

"_Yes, I suppose you should," Andromeda answered, placing a hand to Paris' forehead. "He should sleep through the rest of the night now, I added a sleeping draught to the soothing herbs. Put him back in his room, Hector, and I will be by in the morning to speak with your parents." Hector nodded and stood up, both amused and annoyed at the fact that Paris felt twenty pounds heavier in sleep than he did while awake._

_He left the house and made his way back to the palace, pausing to hide from the patrol of guards. The fewer people who knew of this the better, he thought. He made it back inside, hurrying down the hall to Paris' room. There he slipped inside and laid his brother down in his bed, pulling blankets up over him. He stayed there at his side for a moment, debating what he should do. It felt weird, just leaving him to return to his own room, after witnessing how sick he'd been. And what if he'd not heard Paris before he made it to the stable? What if his brother had still been out there now, with no help? He could have died!_

_Hector made his mind up then and there that he wasn't going to leave his brother's side again, not unless someone else was there to watch over him. After all, Paris was his little brother, and it was his responsibility to make sure that nothing ever happened to him. Pulling back the sheets of the bed, Hector slid in next to Paris, cradling his brother's smaller body against his own. He wanted to be right next to him in case Paris woke up again and needed him._

Paris shivered again, as though memories of his childhood illness were enough to bring back to fever. How he wished for Hector's arms now! Pride be damned, Paris felt certain that if his brother showed up right this moment, he'd fling all trappings of adult pride away and curl into his brother's arms. There he would be quiet and content to let Hector fix everything once again, and though he'd be embarrassed by his actions the next morning, at least he'd be alive, and at least he'd be with his people.

But he knew that Hector would not show today – and not the next day, or the day after. He had to prepare himself in the event that Hector never showed his face again at all. Every likelihood existed that Paris, prince of Troy, would one day become Paris, slave of Sparta. Perhaps it was what the gods intended. Thinking of gods, Paris turned his eyes to the sky, watching as lines of pink stretched across the horizon, Apollo's flames chasing away the night's darkness. Closing his eyes, Paris began a quick prayer to the sun god, speaking quietly.

It was not quiet enough, though. "Apollo has deserted you, little prince!" A loud voice boomed behind Paris, and the Trojan prince turned his head, his eyes falling on the man responsible for his abduction – Ajax. The giant of a man only made Paris think of Abrax, and that made him think of Aeton and he couldn't help but wonder if horses could feel it when their kin died. Did Aeton know that his son would never ride with him again? Had he seen the body, the flank crushed by the maul of Ajax? Or was he still looking, calling for him in the stable, wondering where he'd gone?

Paris' eyes burned with fury and hatred as he looked upon the man. His hatred for Menelaus was different than this one, for Paris could understand Menelaus' rage. He had wronged the Spartan king. But to Ajax, he had committed no offence. To Ajax, he did not feel responsible.

"Do you know, Paris of Troy, that it is because of you that your brother Hector still lives?" Ajax said, not put off by Paris' refusal to speak.

"How is that?" Paris asked, torn between curiosity and a desired vow of silence. In the end curiosity won out, of course, because the younger son of Priam never could keep his mouth shut.

"Had Menelaus not asked of me the favour of capturing you, I would have duelled your brother, little prince, and I would have won!" Ajax said, smashing the cage near Paris' head. The Trojan shifted away from him, involuntary reflexes of self preservation kicking in. "Now I do not know whether I should be grateful to Menelaus, or angry with you! Your brother yet lives, but here you are, the shame of Troy! A blessing do I consider it, to see you kept like the mongrel you are, young prince." Ajax crossed his arms, staring down at Paris.

The younger man wasn't sure whether it would be wise to answer, as he very much doubted whether anyone would come to his aide should Ajax seek to hurt him. What did the king of Salamis want? Simply to insult him, to scare him, perhaps? Or had he been sent by Menelaus himself?

"I have sent my men back to our home, young Paris, but at the request of my friend, I shall remain here for the time being, lest that brother of yours attempt any ill-advised rescue missions." Ajax crouched down, his fingers gripping the bars of the cage. "I hope he does come, prince Paris, for I would so love to kill your brother while you watch. Do you know what I would do after killing him?"

Paris stared up into the man's face, shaking his head slowly. No smart comments were coming to mind now, though he wished they would, simply to distract him from the thought of Hector laying dead by Ajax's arm.

Ajax laughed, pushing his head against the bars, one arm reaching through the cage to grab Paris' leg, nails digging into his skin. "I would lick the tears from your face, prince, before slitting your throat." Ajax licked the steel bar before withdrawing his arm and standing. "So hopefully your brother comes!" With a laugh the giant of a man walked away, leaving Paris alone and shivering against the bars of the cage. He would not think of Hector's death, and he would not let Ajax's threat affect him.

But as he leaned against the cage and closed his eyes, all he saw was Hector's crushed body and Ajax's sneering face. It wasn't that he thought Ajax could beat his brother – had they duelled back in Troy, Paris would have bet his life on his brother's victory.

But they were in Sparta now, surrounded by Menelaus' soldiers. If Hector did come, and he did duel with Ajax, there would be no clean fight, because the fight would not be for honour. Paris shivered again, torn now between hope that Hector would come to save him, and hope that he would stay in Troy, away from the danger of the king of Salamis.

* * *

They made Mykonos that night and if it had been up to Hector they would have kept on going until they'd reached the shores on Sparta. As it was Lysander ordered the rest that night, though while now the others slept he remained awake, at the side of his friend, who could find no rest.

"There is little point in both of us being without sleep tonight, my friend," Hector said, "Though it is a comfort, I do not require your company, Lysander. You should rest."

The older man smiled at the prince's attempted order, leaning on the railing of the boat. "I do not remain awake for your comfort, Hector," he began, "I remain awake to ensure you do not haul up the anchor yourself and sail us off into the night."

Hector allowed himself a small smile, both amused and annoyed by Lysander's comment. "I know it is foolish to sail the islands in darkness, my friend, you have no reason for concern." Hector turned away from the water, instead sinking down to the floor of the ship and sitting back against the wall. "I would not risk the lives of the men for a few more miles."

"I didn't say you would risk them, Hector," Lysander answered, "Do you believe I think that?" The older man sank down as well, sitting next to his captain. Long had Lysander served under Priam's family, and long had he loved the royals like brothers himself. He was concerned for Hector, though, a concern born of many years spent watching the two brothers grow into men, the older always protecting the younger. He knew Hector still blamed himself for Paris' abduction, and Lysander sough to ensure that Hector's vision would never grow beyond their capabilities.

"No, my friend," Hector said, raising a hand to run through his hair, damp with sea spray. "But I fear that I feel it in my heart. Though they have all volunteered, I still feel the burden of bringing them before a great danger for purely selfish reasons. My brother has never brought glory to Troy, he is no skilled warrior or hero, and lives have been lost because of his actions. How can I ask these men to put their lives at risk for him?"

"They put their lives at risk for you, Hector."

"And that's exactly the problem! They do my bidding out of love for me, when the one they seek to rescue has never shown any love to them, nor to our country. He risked war for a woman, Lysander, when we were there seeking peace! How can I expect them to rescue a man they don't even respect?"

Lysander did not answer right away, judging that Hector's thoughts were coming from a much deeper place than he spoke of. "Do you want to hear what I think, my friend?" Lysander waited until Hector looked at him, curious eyes telling him to go on. "I do not think you feel guilty for coming to rescue your brother, Hector. I think you feel guilty for loving your brother, for choosing Paris over Troy."

Lysander's words hit Hector like a spear to the heart – sharp and painful, but precisely accurate and true. "You are a good friend, Lysander," he said, "And I fear you see right through me."

Lysander placed a hand on Hector's knee, patting his leg. "Not one of these men would judge you for the love you have for your brother, Hector, for without family, who are we but savages? Those we surround ourselves with make us who we are, and not a one of us may be counted as perfect, though many would hold you as close to it as possible."

Hector smiled at Lysander's words, grateful for them. But they did not fully assuage his guilty conscience. "My brother has many faults."

"That he does," Lysander agreed, "But he is not made entirely of them, Hector. There is worth in your brother, a great deal of it I'd say, but it's a worth he does not show to many. You've seen it, and I daresay I've seen it a few times myself over the years. Your father has seen it, and Helen was so moved by it she left a comfortable life, knowing she would be hunted to the death by Menelaus. The worth of your brother is not able to be shown on the field of battle, Hector, for Paris is no soldier. Your brother's worth lies in love, my friend, though it was a tool I fear that he was never taught to respect."

"You speak yet more truths, Lysander," Hector acknowledged.

"I have been a witness to the goings-on in your family for a very long time, my friend," Lysander answered, "Thus I am able to see many things that are oft overlooked by those too closely involved. Do not let guilt grip you, Hector. We will get Paris back, and we will return to Troy. You will have your brother again, my friend. But you must not sink in to guilt, for you will be of no use to anyone so mired."

Hector turned his head to look at Lysander, a grateful smile on his lips. "I thank you, my friend. Your words ring true and I needed to hear them more than I realized."

"That is why I volunteered to accompany you, my friend. Someone would have to put the pup back on the right path when he began to veer from it," Lysander said with a laugh.

Hector shook his head and stood up. "I feel as though sleep may yet come to me tonight, my friend. I assume you've arranged a watch with the men behind my back?" Lysander smiled and nodded, and Hector couldn't help but laugh. "Good. Then I go now to sleep, and I thank you once again, my friend. You are truly invaluable to me."

Lysander watched as the crown prince of Troy retreated below deck, pleased and relieved he'd broken through the haze of guilt that had lain across the young man since the beginning of the journey. He well understood Hector's feelings, his fear and concern. Paris of Troy did not possess the most pleasant of reputations, but he was a pleasant man, and he was loved by his family. Lysander would not bear the thought of Hector and Priam suffering at his loss. He would see this mission through, even if it meant that he had to brave the maelstrom of Sparta himself to rescue the prince.

He would do it out of love for Hector, and out of love for Priam, and even out of love for Paris. But most of all, Lysander would do it out of love for Troy.


	6. Chapter 6

Judging from the position of the sun, Paris felt it safe to assume it was exactly the middle of the day, not that it really mattered all that much, of course. He was still in Sparta, still in a cage, and still in pain. His arm was throbbing from the cut he'd sustained in battle with Menelaus, but he refused to say anything. Could one die from an infected cut, he wondered? He'd never really paid much attention to injuries before, as he'd never really received that many of them. Hector had always been the one getting himself hurt, taking pride in every new scar, a story to tell for each of them. Paris had always played that game with him, no matter where they were – in bed, catching one another passing in the halls of the palace, even in the court of Troy!

"_And so I believe that due to the ruination of my crops, I should be compensated!"_

"_Bully to your crops! It was just deserved, my lord! His cattle shit freely upon my field-"_

"_It's good for the soil!"_

"_Soil be damned, I'll not feed my family with olives sun basted in the excrement of your livestock!"_

_Paris sat slumped over the table in front of him, contemplating how much trouble he'd be in with his father if he silently snuck away from the court. He couldn't take another argument over cow shit!_

"_Sit up straight," Hector dug an elbow into his brother's side, trying his best to appear as interested in the court proceedings as possible. He felt as bored as his brother, but unlike Paris, Hector was not about to show it._

_Paris brushed the elbow off, though he did sit back in his chair. "This is torture!" He whispered to Hector, wondering how his father dealt with these matters on a daily basis. Could the people of Troy resolve nothing on their own?_

"_Pay attention anyway," Hector said, though in reality he was glad for Paris' boredom. It was the only thing keeping him from sleep at the moment._

_Paris sat back and crossed his arms, listening to the farmer's diatribe for a few seconds, before sliding an arm down his side, casually sliding it across to Hector's leg under cover of the table. His fingers brushed over his brother's skin, though neither of them said a word. Finding what he was looking for, Paris ran a finger over the smooth and soft tissue of a scar, one he couldn't remember ever having asked Hector about. He leaned a bit closer to his brother, tilting his head to the side._

"_Where did you get this one?" He asked, keeping his eyes on the farmers._

_Hector could barely suppress a grin as he thought of Paris' question, trying his best to appear calm and composed, though his brother's fingers strayed upon his thigh. "I don't talk about that one," he replied, knowing it would drive Paris mad._

"_Impossible," Paris replied, "You talk about them all. Who gave it to you?"_

_Hector strained to pay attention to the proceedings in the court, lest his father ask him questions. But he could not ignore his brother's query._

"_That's not important," he said, refusing to turn his head though he could feel Paris' eyes upon him._

_Paris was silent for a moment, reading Hector. With a smug smile, Paris leaned forward. "Was it before or after you met Andromache?" He asked, and the question caught Hector completely off guard._

"_What does Andromache have to do with it?" He asked, amused at the turn of conversation._

"_Just answer the question," Paris replied, his tone amused._

_Hector paused, still trying to follow along with the conversation in court. "Yes, it was before Andromache."_

"_Was it from a woman?" Paris asked, clearly fascinated by the story._

"_No," Hector replied, though it was a lie._

"_It was from a woman, you can't lie to me, brother," Paris chided him good-naturedly._

_Hector was silent for a moment, remembering well the situation and trying hard not to grin too much about it. "It was from her mother," he replied, chancing a glance at Paris._

_Paris leaned over, trying desperately to hide laughter behind a hand and a cough. Silence fell in the hall then, as the brothers looked up to find their father staring at them, a steeled expression in his eyes. Hector met his father's gaze and shrugged, though Paris coughed again. "Sorry," he said softly, pointing to his throat. Priam didn't believe the excuse for a second, but he let the offence slide for now._

_The brothers let a few minutes pass in silence, both feigning focus on the dispute at hand, though in reality they were still battling laughter. Eventually Paris glanced at his brother and returned his hand to the scarred tissue. "That's why I prefer to go for the wives, brother, and not the daughters." Now it was Hector's turn to hide a laugh behind a cough, and for Paris to shrug when their father turned an accusing eye on them._

What Paris would give to be stuck in the tedium of court proceedings now! He'd gladly sacrifice to a life of tedium, so long as he could spend it in Troy, amongst those he loved. Sitting up and slumping over his knees, Paris wasn't sure how much more of this caged existence he could take. How he longed now to sit astride the back of a horse, feeling cool wind in his hair as he raced across the country! Or perhaps the cool water of a lake, or even the Aegean itself! Paris dreamed of any situation in which he could stand and stretch his legs – a true sign of freedom.

"And how does the little prince fare this afternoon?" Came Menelaus' voice, and it was so sudden that Paris almost didn't realize he was actually there! His morning had been so uneventful he'd lapsed into fantasy.

Glaring up at the Spartan king, Paris refused to answer. In truth he fared terribly, not only in spirit but also in body. His arm was a blaring shade of red near the cut, and his knees throbbed from the cramping. His side had started to creep into an unnatural shade of purple as well, the bruise from Menelaus' booted feet coming to surface.

"Still unwilling to play games with me, are you, Paris?" Menelaus asked, crouching down until he was at eye level with the Trojan. "I know just the thing to fix that, mark my word! I would give your situation much thought, little prince." Menelaus stood again and strode off, and Paris felt like kicking the bars of the cage in frustration, but he knew that would only land him in pain.

For now he would simply have to ride out the wave of imprisonment.

* * *

If the morning had brought Paris boredom, the afternoon had brought him a headache! A combination of the glaring sun on his unprotected skin and the taunts and jeers of a dozen shrill childish voices had him contemplating battle with Ajax in order to secure his freedom! His pride barely intact, Paris sat now in silence, his eyes closed and trying to forget the abuse he'd only just suffered at the hands of children! That was perhaps the worst of it all at the moment. Being so caged, like an animal, he was unable to protect himself from anything.

Being harassed by men was one thing, but by children was entirely different. They were mimics and parrots, yelling insults they barely understood, throwing rocks and poking with sticks because it was all they knew. He couldn't really fault them for it – they didn't understand anything beyond the idea that he had somehow disrespected the man they called king. There was no reasoning with them, for they had no ulterior motives. They were just noise and occasional pain and they were incessant until called to dinner by their mothers.

It was nearing twilight now, the sun having set on the other side of the world, Apollo's chariot driven away by the moon. Paris wondered if he would truly be forced to spend another night in the cage, or if he would accept an ultimatum, were it given to him again.

He did not have long to wait for the opportunity. Heavy boots on the steps caught his attention and before he realized what was occurring, the cage door was opened and he was being yanked out by the chain that still hung from the collar around his neck. His legs stiff from cramping, Paris stumbled behind the soldier, barely able to walk. He tripped twice, and both times was jerked so brutally forward that he nearly choked. He recognized the hall, though, and he knew where he was being led.

Now that he was standing, though, now that he'd restored blood to his limbs, he was unsure if he would be quite so quick to agree to any sort of deal with Menelaus. The very name of the man sickened him – surely, he could not acquiesce to the Spartan's demands. There had to be some other way.

They reached the end of the hall and Paris was prepared when he was hurled inside, catching himself so he did not fall to the floor. Instead he stood tall and proud as he dared, a stoic expression on his face. He would not cower before Menelaus.

The Spartan king was standing near the fire, not yet looking at his guest. Paris took the opportunity to glance around the room, looking for any sort of weapon he might use against his captor. Even if he would die in the process, at least if he could wound the man, it would be a gift. There, against the opposite wall from where Menelaus stood, rested an iron rod, no doubt used to prod the wood of the fire when it died to embers. If he could reach it, maybe he'd have a chance.

Menelaus was not about to allow him the opportunity, though. "Paris," the king began, turning his head to look upon his guest. "So you stand before me once again after a day spent among the hospitality of my people, and I offer you a choice. What is your decision?"

Paris refused to meet this king's eyes, keeping his gaze on the floor. If he were to stand any chance, he would have to go about this properly, in such a manner that would not arouse too much suspicion. So he remained quiet for now, looking sullen and desperate.

"Do you truly have nothing to say? Shall I send you back to your cage, to spend another night and another day in cramped misery?" Menelaus walked two paces closer, his eyes a blazing fury directed at the boy in front of him.

Paris chanced a look at Menelaus, only a second, but long enough to send him into shudders. "No," he said softly, though it was all a ploy. He needed to appear weak.

Menelaus laughed, standing with crossed arms and a smug expression. "Did you not enjoy yourself, prince?" Menelaus' greedy eyes took in the young prince's cowering form, sneering as he approached him. "I see your arm grows worse," he said, reaching out to grab Paris' arm, squeezing the red skin near the cut. Paris cried out, not expecting the pain of the grab. "Infection, perhaps. You might soon need something for that," he said, his grip still strong.

Paris ground his teeth together, unwilling to cry out despite the pain. But the harder Menelaus pushed, the worse it became, and Paris began to wonder if his arm would be the end of him. Almost as though he'd read his mind, Menelaus dropped the Trojan's arm. "Soon, young Paris, your arm may be the least of your worries." Menelaus stood close to him, his breath hot on Paris' cheek. "Do you accept my offer, or must you learn the hard way?"

Paris stood still, regaining control of his thoughts now that the immediate pain was gone. Menelaus was close, but suspected nothing. Should he go for the iron rod, or wait? Paris' gaze flitted between the man and the weapon, unable to decide. Fortune present him with a better chance, though. Menelaus walked back toward the fire, turning his back to the young man. "You do realize, young Paris, that the longer you delay acceptance, the more you will suffer, for even if your brother does come, he cannot possibly hope to rescue you."

Paris waited until the Spartan was as far away as he expected him to be, nearly to the balcony, close enough to touch the silk curtains. Pairs looked at the door, seeing it closed. They were alone now, he and Menelaus. It was the only chance he might get. Ignoring the comments of the king, Paris sprang forward, making the wall in three leaps, his fingers closing around the iron rod. Spinning around to face the king, who now regarded him with an expression of shocked amusement, Paris gripped the bar with both hands, wondering which part of the king he ought to aim for. "Hector won't need to come for me, for I'll kill you myself!"

"Paris," Menelaus said with a laugh, "Is this how you repay my hospitality? With the threat of death by iron? Did Priam teach you no manners at all?"

"Don't talk about my father," Paris said, his fingers curling and re-curling around the rod.

"I have nothing ill to say of your father, boy, except that old age and affection has made him a fool!" Menelaus replied, "But clearly you did not inherit his skill for diplomacy! How like your mother you turned out, weak and deceptive and a traitorous whore!"

Paris knew the Spartan was only trying to bait him, but he couldn't stand to hear what Menelaus had to say! Making a rush at the older man, Paris swung the iron heavily, aiming for the king's head. Being a skilled fighter Menelaus easily dodged the swing, reaching for the young man's arm. But Paris fought him off, trying again for another strike. He managed to hit the Spartan's leg, earning him a roar of anger from Menelaus.

"Enough!" The Spartan yelled, advancing quickly on Paris, lunging for him and tacking him back against the stone bench. Paris clung to the rod, tired and weak and sore, but still unwilling to give up. He struggled to retain ownership of the rod, but Menelaus' arms were twice the size of his, and the Spartan king had been eating and sleeping well. Menelaus easily wrestled the rod away from Paris, throwing it to the side, beyond the Trojan's grasp.

But that wasn't the end of it. Menelaus grabbed Paris by the hair, yanking him toward the bed. "I grow tired of waiting, prince!" he yelled, throwing Paris roughly down on top of the blankets. "I will break you myself, if that is what it takes!" He lashed out with a fist, connecting with the side of Paris' head.

The young prince slumped forward, his sight momentarily going blurry. This was not how things were supposed to go, he thought, he'd beaten Menelaus once in combat, he should have beaten him a second time! But there was little chance to spare for those thoughts now, as Paris watched Menelaus removing the belt from his tunic. He tried to crawl from the bed but Menelaus was there in an instant, hands gripping his throat.

"I will teach you subservience, Paris, even if it kills you!" Menelaus yelled, grabbing the Trojan prince and shoving him down on the bed in front of him. Paris was vaguely aware of what was happening before he felt it – a burning pain in his backside as Menelaus roughly entered him, and he was barely even aware of his own cries as he screamed out, the pain nearly unbearable.

And through it all Menelaus laughed, one hand tangled in Paris' hair, the other around his neck, pressing hard enough to choke him, but lightly enough to allow for some breath to make it through. It didn't last long, mostly due to Paris' prior injuries. The Trojan prince collapsed midway through the session, though that did little to deter Menelaus. He finished his actions and stood up again, looking in triumph at the crumpled and broken figure of Paris of Troy on his bed. It both excited and disgusted him at the same time.

Standing up and returning to the fire in order to pick up his belt, Menelaus called for his chamber guard to take his prisoner away, back out to his cage to spend another night under the stars and among the insects and reptiles. Menelaus couldn't stand to look at him a second longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes**My apologies for this chapter taking a bit longer to write than I anticipated. My job, coupled with a sports league I run, has me short on spare time and energy left for writing. But things are looking up slightly now, so hopefully that means quicker updates. Just rest assured that no matter how long passes in between chapters, I'm still working on this. I also wanted to mention that I've decided to start posting some drabbles and one-shots about the brothers that won't make their way into this story, but they're still a part of this universe I've created for them. The series is called Two Princes, and the first little scene is posted. I hope you enjoy them in between chapters of this story. :)

As for this story, sorry to say there's not a great deal of action in this part. It's mostly set up for what's to come, though we do get to visit with everyone, even those left back in Troy!

* * *

Hector estimated it was nearly two hours after landing, and already three of his group were gone. Christos, Theoderi, and Eiriodos had left soon after docking near Voles, off to seek horses and a wagon. Eiriodos would return, while the twins were to set off for the city of Sparta to seek out employment in the city's army. Hector was not worried for the two, for their Greek was impeccable and their dark complexions had them perfectly looking the part. They had not been part of Hector and Paris' company when they'd come to Sparta just a week ago, and would not be recognized by any Greek eyes, for their youth had not seen them engage in any past battles with the Spartans.

The same could not be said for he or Lysander, though, and it was for that reason that they were to stay with the ship, making plans and strategizing from afar whilst their soldiers put their lives at risk. The guilt ate at him bit by bit, though he knew it shouldn't. Everyone here had volunteered, and even if Hector ordered them all to return home, he knew they would disobey. They were loyal to him, and for that he was grateful.

"The provisions are all accounted for, my lord, and when Eiriodos returns, we shall set off for the city." Niko approached the prince, hands dirty from unloading cargo. "Alexander has volunteered to come with us, acting as a stray wanderer we have picked up along the way. He'll return with news once we've settled into our roles."

Hector nodded, his eyes flitting around their ship, taking in the site of his men. They were all in travelling cloaks of gold and red, perfectly tattered and sea-worn to suggest their merchant identities. They were not out of place at the dock of Voles, though Hector could not help but feel as though they were all being watched by some great eye, unseen to men. Lysander had been quick to suggest what he felt was the weight of Apollo's stare, the God's left eye fixed on them, while his right continued to watch Troy. Hector wished he could find the comfort in the statement that Lysander found. But he was not one to rely on deities.

"When does Anton leave? I thought he was to go with you?" Lysander asked, curious gaze flitting from Hector to Niko.

"He prefers to come by Sparta on his own, hitching a ride with some local. We've all decided it would be for the best, as he may be able to come by some useful information from loose merchant tongues."

Lysander nodded. "An intelligent decision." Turning his head to the city, he raised one hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I believe Eiriodos returns, with your merchant cart. Our plans are underway, then." He turned his head once more to look back at Hector, who stood with crossed arms and a sour expression. Leaning closer to his friend, Lysander lowered his voice. "Is something amiss, my captain? Or are you still plagued with guilt?"

Hector glanced at the older man, frowning once more before turning his head to watch the cart that rumbled closer to them. "Nothing is amiss, my friend, and my guilt does not plague me. Instead it is worry, for all involved."

Lysander nodded but said nothing in return. He suspected the bulk of Hector's concerns lay with his brother, and there was nought to be done about that at the moment. All they could do was wait for word from their spies – who had not yet set out for the city. Clapping a hand to Hector's shoulder, Lysander squeezed it gently before heading down the pier. "Come, my friend, let us help the others load the cart so they may set off."

Hector watched the rest of the crew walk away, before turning his head skyward. _If you are watching, Apollo, please do what you can for my men. I do not mean to insult you with non-confidence, but we are in enemy land, and some of my men are young and inexperienced. Please guide them, if you can spare a moment._ He felt rather silly, sending a prayer to the clouds, but perhaps over time he'd grow used to the action.

"Come, my friend! There is work to be done!" Hector heard Lysander yell, finally casting his eyes back down and walking forward to join his men. If this endeavour somehow managed to go smoothly, he would dedicate more of his time to Troy's patron God. He would make that sacrifice for his men, and for his brother.

* * *

It had been nearly four days since Hector had left with his men, and five days since she'd last seen Paris. Helen stood alone in the garden, hands rubbing her arms, feeling chilled. Though Troy itself was beautiful, she had found herself unable to appreciate its splendour, unable to keep her eyes focused overly long on anything outside the palace. Though no one had ever spoken to her out of turn or harshly, she still felt the stares, the weight of Troy's anger focused on her back. If it weren't for her, Troy would not have lost soldiers, and her princes would not be in enemy land.

How could she be worth it all? How could she have allowed anyone to die for her? Both were questions that confused and shamed her, though she tried to ignore them. She could not undo actions or reverse time. She was now a part of Troy, and all she could do was wait for news.

She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and she held her breath, afraid to turn around. What if it were a citizen of Troy, come to air grievances against her?

"Helen, just who I was looking for," came a soft voice behind her, and she let out the breath she'd been holding.

"My lord," she said with a slight bow, turning to the king and forcing a smile to her lips. "It's a lovely evening," she remarked, though she still felt chilled.

"Indeed it is," Priam remarked, his eyes on the young woman's hands, his smile soft as he reached out to place his hands over hers. "Are you alright, my dear? You don't seem well."

Helen shook her head, berating herself silently for worrying the man. Priam had been nothing but supportive since meeting her, a sturdy rock in times of need, every bit the father Paris had proclaimed him to be. "I'm well, my lord."

"None of this _my lord_ nonsense, Helen. You'll be calling me father soon enough, I imagine," Priam replied, squeezing her hands.

Helen again tried to smile, but found it hard. What did you say to that? How do you even begin to make amends to a father for forcing his sons into danger? How do you return kindness when all you deserve is bitter resentment?

"Come, Helen, will you join me inside? My niece, Briseis, is to return from temple soon. We would be delighted with your company for dinner. Come, I'll hear no other answer," he said, before turning back to the palace.

Helen followed, mostly out of respect. If he wished to dine with her, she supposed it was the least she could do for him. She followed him through corridors and halls, and soon he broke the silence. "In my long years as king and commander of men, Helen, I have learned that it does not help to sit and suffer with mourning and despair. Until we hear otherwise, we must believe that Hector and Paris will return whole and healthy. It is very important, not just for our own well being, but also for the people." He paused then, his eyes fixed on her.

She felt the weight of his stare but could not meet his eyes. What good could she be to Troy's people? What could they gain from her?

"I know what thoughts plague you, my dear, and you must push them aside. My people know that much was risked for you, that Paris risked much for you, and they do not hold you accountable for what has happened. I would not have you walk my streets with grief and sadness, Helen. I would have you greet each day with a smile, as I would have you greet my people. If you open yourself to them, my dear, they will get to know you, and they will come to love you. But they can not approach you when you walk as a ghost, unwilling to meet their smiles." Priam watched as the expression on her faced changed, confusion settling over the sorrow.

"Forgive me, for I could see no reason why your people would choose to greet me as such, for in my coming there has been death, and even now there is sorrow while your sons venture far from home. I did not think any would be willing to call me friend when I have brought such pain." She spoke softly, almost embarrassed to admit to her feelings. Priam offered so much, and she could do nothing but question him.

The king smiled, for he understood her concerns. "Life will not always present you with answers freely given, my dear, but if you phrase your questions in just such a way, then you will find the answers you need at that moment in time."

Helen could not help but smile at his comment. "You mean to say that I cannot hope for a friendly reception if I myself do not offer one to begin with."

Priam smiled back and raised his hands to cup her cheeks, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Already you have found an answer. Now come, Briseis probably awaits me already!" He moved off down the hall and Helen watched him for a moment before moving forward to join him. She knew that his advice was sound, and perhaps tomorrow she would walk the streets of Troy with her head held high, and she would greet the hard stares with soft smiles, and maybe the people of Troy would see that she hurt as much as they did.

* * *

Paris was vaguely aware of the sensation of water trickling down his face, cool and refreshing, and he fought to open his eyes – but he couldn't. They remained shut, despite his best efforts, and he wondered then why that was, and he tried to remember what had happened to him. He remembered something about a battle, and a giant that killed his horse, and a ship, a king, and a beautiful woman...

"Prince Paris? Please wake up," a voice whispered, and he felt soft fingers touching his skin, prodding his face. Paris, Paris... Was that his name? Was he the prince?

He tried once more to force his eyes open, but they remained shut. He tried to breathe in deeply but a sharp pain shot through him, starting all the way down in his toes and running along all the way up to his head, to the very tip of him, and everywhere the pain spread his skin seemed to ache, and suddenly he remembered where he was.

Sparta. Menelaus' captive.

His memories came back to him then and he tried to sit up but found that he couldn't move, but suddenly then his eyes opened, but he shut them again quickly when the sight gave him a headache. He tried to speak, but his words came out mumbled if they even came out at all (he wasn't sure) and he was aware he was groaning quietly, the pain in his body manifesting itself in guttural grunting.

"Shh, please don't make much noise," the voice whispered again, and he chanced opening his eyes and that's when he saw her. Menelaus' slave. The girl who'd served Helen.

"I remember you," he said softly, or tried to at any rate, he tried to reach out and touch her hand, to reassure himself that he was still alive, still there.

She just smiled and pressed something cool and damp against his skin. "Shh, please don't speak. I don't want anyone to hear us," she whispered, "I shouldn't be here," she added by way of explanation. He didn't fully comprehend her, but he stopped trying to speak and his hands rested at his sides.

* * *

Paris awoke hours later to sunlight, city noise, and a pounding headache. His first instinct was to reach out for his temples, to press his fingers into them and try to massage away the aches – but his left arm was so stiff he could barely move it, and seconds later intense pain flared from his shoulder and he didn't want to look but he had no choice – and once he had he wished he hadn't. There was no doubt now that his shoulder was infected. Perhaps he would die of infection, out here in the cage, dust choking him because he had no strength left to cough.

He needed a doctor. If he wished to live, that is, and he wasn't entirely sure about that, not given his current situation. Not while he remained in Sparta, Menelaus' captive.

Menelaus. Suddenly everything about the previous night came back to him, his attempt to fight, the way in which the Spartan king had easily outmanoeuvred him, and the way Menelaus had punished him for it. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach but he couldn't even roll to his side, and he had to fight against his reflexes to keep the bile from rising any higher, and his throat burned with the effort.

He shivered and wished for a blanket, and a pillow, and a bed...

Instead he remained on the floor of the cage, alone and bare and chilled to the bone. He was sure that this was how it felt to die, for he was sure that he was dying, out here in the cage. Menelaus would be in no rush to save him, and even if Hector did come he would be too late.

His brother would bring home nothing more than the charred remains of his bones.

"That shoulder of yours looks terrible, little prince," a voice boomed from behind him, startling the Trojan prince. Paris turned his head and saw the crouched figure of Ajax just beyond the bars, sporting a malicious looking smile. "Perhaps they'll have to cut off your arm."

Paris said nothing in return, no energy left in him to give the Salaminian. Maybe if he just ignored him, Ajax would grow bored.

"I think perhaps I should speak to my friend, though, and ensure he sees to your health. After all, we do not want you expiring before the party, do we?" Ajax left the reference vague on purpose, knowing just how to bait the Trojan out of his shell. Though Paris did not seem to have the energy to speak, the confused expression on his face at the mention of an upcoming party told Ajax that the young man was listening.

"Oh, you didn't know, did you? Why, your new master's brother is coming for a visit! Agamemnon himself, king of all the Greeks! I'm sure he would be delighted to see you again, young Paris. But the loss of one arm would do nothing for your beauty, so perhaps we'll see to that infection." Ajax watched as Paris' expression registered the news of Agamemnon's visit, and the giant king of Salamis laughed when he saw the way Paris' face lost what little blood it had regained, his face pale and waxen.

Paris said nothing as he watched Ajax rise and walk off, feeling sick all over again. He shuddered at the thought of the impending visit, wondering what would be planned for him.

* * *

"Is there any other news I ought to be aware of?" Menelaus asked as he sat down, glad to rest his legs for a moment. It had been a long day of inspections, all part of the preparation for his brother's visit. Though they were family, Menelaus still felt the need to impress his eldest kin, to prove that Spartans could overcome their militaristic lifestyles when needed and throw a wondrous party. Everything had to be perfect for the envoy from Mycenae.

"Nothing pressing," answered his senior adviser, Actaeon. "It was a slow day, the only thing of any potential interest to you were the merchants from Crete. I've allotted them a stall in the market place, as they had some good stock with them, in particular some handsome looking boxes of citron."

Menelaus laughed and rubbed his hands together. "A funny occurrence, that! These merchants show with a favourite treat of my brother's, just in time for his visit. One would almost think he sent them himself."

Actaeon grinned in return, glad the news had pleased the king as much as he'd expected. "Perhaps so, or perhaps their arrival is simply a blessing sent from the gods. They wish to show their pleasure at recent events."

"Mm, one would hope that is the case," Menelaus answered, his thoughts momentarily interrupted as the doors to his study were thrown open. Just as he was set to yell in anger at whosoever dared to interrupt him, his eyes fell upon his guest. "Ah, Ajax! I did not think we were to meet until dinner?"

The Salaminian nodded at the comment, coming to stand by the table. "Indeed, and my apologies for bothering you earlier than anticipated! In truth I have just paid our Trojan friend a visit." Ajax paused, his eyes straying from Menelaus to Actaeon. The adviser's face was a mask of stone, well trained to reveal nothing to anyone other than the king he served.

"And how does he fare?" Menelaus asked, his own face curling slightly in disgust. After he'd roughly taken the young prince the night before, he'd spent three hours at the baths. He'd taken the company of four of his favourite women, but had them sent away after only one of those hours. The other two he'd spent drinking himself into a furious stupor. His desecration of the prince had not pleased him the way he'd expected it to. Maybe it was because the boy had passed out before the king had been able to see the look of shame on his face.

"Rather poorly," Ajax replied, walking slowly to the table. He flicked his hand toward a servant, who rushed from her place at the back of the room to pour him a goblet of wine. "If you don't have him treated soon, he may lose his arm."

"And what a loss that would be!" Menelaus replied, sarcasm heavy on his voice.

Ajax smiled, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "I don't mean the censure out of pity or concern for his well-being, my friend," he began, taking the wine he was offered, but not before groping the servant girl's breasts. "She's a nice one you have here," he remarked, pausing to take a sip of his wine.

"You can have her later if you wish, I've grown tired of her lately," Menelaus replied, taking a swig of his own goblet.

"Many thanks, my friend," Ajax replied, his eyes still studying the Spartan king's. "Back to young Paris, though. What are your plans for him ere your brother arrives?"

Menelaus was silent for a moment, contemplating the question. What were his plans? Surely he wanted to see Paris further shamed, and he would like something entertaining for his brother to witness. "Why do you ask? Do you have an idea to offer?" He asked Ajax, finally looking up into the face of the giant Salaminian.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Ajax replied, meeting his friend's gaze with confident eyes of his own. "I say we ought to offer him a chance for freedom," he said, "A chance to showcase his legendary skill with the sword." He knew he was treading precarious ground with his chosen words, and he carefully studied Menelaus' face to gauge his true reaction.

The Spartan knew he was being observed, and it piqued his anger nearly as much as Ajax's words themselves! But he could little afford to let his feelings show at the moment. "I assume you wish to be his sparring partner this time, my friend?" He replied, teeth grinding on the last word. There are no friends in politics.

Ajax laughed, amused at the reaction he'd drawn. There was and always had been such difference between Menelaus and Agamemnon, the Salaminian thought. Try as he might, the Spartan king never could keep his feelings masked, while with the elder Mycenaean king could tell a lie to the gods themselves, and none would be the wiser. He would have to be careful when Agamemnon arrived, as he did not wish to draw the ire of the most powerful of the Greek kings. For now, though, he would raise the hackles of the Spartan. "That was my intention, yes," he said, taking a slow sip of wine. "As long as you are willing, of course."

Menelaus nodded, finishing off his glass in an attempt to keep his mouth occupied so he couldn't call the Salaminian on his taunts. Slamming the goblet on the table, he nodded his head and attempted a smile. "It's settled, then. We'll arrange a duel for when my brother visits, and we'll make a true spectacle of it."

Ajax finished off his wine as well and laid his goblet on the table before nodding to his host. "Brilliant! So you'll see to his health, then? I do not wish for him to fall over before we even begin!"

Menelaus nodded. "Yes, I'll have him seen to."

"Good, good! Well then my friend, I do think I'll take my leave of you now and retire for a few hours before dinner. Do you mind if I partake of your girl now?" He asked, beckoning the young woman forward. She timidly approached the table, and looked as though she were silently praying to the gods to spare her from Ajax.

Much as Menelaus did not wish to do the Salaminian any favours at the moment, the girl's weakness and fear aggravated him far more. "Yes, take her! I've no further need for her." He watched as her face dropped slightly, and she obediently followed the tall man from the room.

The study was quiet for a moment, the footsteps echoing down the hall as Ajax led the girl away. The king's anger and ire festered in the silence, until finally he picked up his wine goblet and hurled it across the room at the wall.

Actaeon observed the action, and was careful in his choice of words. "My lord, I am certain our guest meant no disrespect," he said calmly, though he believed the opposite. But he knew Menelaus, and at the moment he could not allow the king to stew in anger for too long.

"Oh he most certainly did mean to insult me," Menelaus replied, picking up the bottle of wine and taking a swig from it. "But there is little to be done about that now."

"Indeed," the adviser replied, "Ever in politics is there distrust and disrespect. But we must always be careful to pick and choose our battles properly, and Ajax's actions and words should not concern you."

"You are right," the king replied, loathe though he was to admit it. "We have more important matters to attend to, you and I. Ajax will get what he has coming eventually, and may it be a Spartan to strike that blow when the time comes."

Actaeon smiled and nodded his head in compliance. "In the mean time, I'll see to arrangements for our Trojan prince. Perhaps he'll surprise Ajax in the end," he replied casually, his mind already working over possibilities.

"Yes," Menelaus said with a smirk, remembering well what it had cost him to underestimate the Trojan prince. "Perhaps he will taste the sting of a cornered dog's teeth, and in front of all of Sparta, no less. I'm sure it will be a spectacle for all time to behold."

Actaeon smiled and bowed his head, backing away to the door and exiting into the hall. He called to the first female he saw, a well endowed maid he knew the king favoured, and sent her to the study to see that Menelaus did not drink himself back to ill intentions while he was busy seeing to the health of the Trojan. And after he was finished with Paris, perhaps then he would visit the apothecary. He had plans to lay.


End file.
